


Wand and Shield

by MortasPriest



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 248,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortasPriest/pseuds/MortasPriest
Summary: The world is breaking. War and technology push on the edge of the unbelievable as S.H.I.E.L.D. desperately tries to keep the peace. Soldier and scientist no longer hold the line alone, as an ancient fire burns alongside them. The last of all wizards.





	1. First Days

There was nothing.

He'd half expected it, of course: between the empty lot that had replaced the Leaky Cauldron in London and the impoverished family that had taken up residence in 12 Grimmauld Place, the Wizarding World was suddenly looking considerably different from how he remembered it. Indeed, it looked very much as if it had never existed.

Unfortunately, that proposition seemed to be correct. Harry sighed wearily, wiping his messy black hair out of his eyes and settling his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he quickly glanced over his map. He was most definitely in the right location. Around him stood the crumbling walls and towers of what had to have been a magnificent sight, far in the past, a great castle. Now it was a museum piece, if even that.

The Marauder's Map was quite an invention and had been helpful back in Hogwarts, all those years ago. He thought back with a smile to the time he'd used it to track Snape through the halls, certain the man was up to no good. It was effectively useless now, the many intricate halls and hidden passages depicted on it unrepresented in reality. Yet, right here, in ancient castle ruins on the bluffs of Scotland ravaged by time, he could see a little dot appear labelled 'Harry James Potter'.

"Well, that's the last of them, then," he muttered, stuffing the map back in his mokeskin pouch, glancing around warily for Muggles. They were pretty much the only people he'd be liable to run into here, it seemed. He'd been  _here_ for the better part of a week now. He still hadn't quite figured out where he was, but the pieces were beginning to fall into place. They were beginning to paint a disconcerting picture.

This place: it was definitely not where he was born or raised. Oh, there was still a Hogwarts (well, a ruin of a castle) and there was still a Surrey, but they weren't the same ones. Number Four Privet Drive was actually now inhabited by a strange old couple, now. The balding man who lived there had quite stereotypically told him to get off his lawn when Harry had stood before his house, gaping. That had been on the first day after he arrived, so he figured he'd had an excuse.

Standing here, among the ruins, he finally admitted what his research seemed to conclude: there was no Wizarding World. If there had ever been one (many of the same legends existed, so it wasn't an unreasonable idea) then it had either vanished or hidden itself even deeper below the surface, beyond even his considerable power to detect.

"Well, Dumbledore, I guess you were right in the end," Harry said aloud, sighing deeply. "Though, I admit, I'd expected the 'Next Great Adventure' to be less... Muggle."

Harry shook his head and spun on his heel, apparating back to London, where he'd Confunded a hotel clerk to give him a room indefinitely. Not very honest, but he didn't have nearly enough money on hand; not Muggle money, anyway. He'd pay her back... probably.

He'd never even noticed the CCTV camera.

* * *

"How long will you be staying?"

"I'll be staying..." Harry waved her off surreptitiously; the woman blinked for a moment and then went back to her computer. It wasn't strictly allowed to use spells such as befuddlement charms for mundane things. It'd been drilled into him aplenty at the Ministry, but in a world without such rules the convenience definitely made up for the brief tinge of moral indignation. He really didn't want to stand in line for half an hour, after all. "Thank you."

Taking the plane had been a spur of the moment thing; with all of his familiar places missing, there was little keeping him restricted to Britain, and he'd found himself considering seeing other places around the world that he'd only ever read about. Indeed, not having to worry too much about the laws of the Wizarding World felt liberating as well, and it would greatly facilitate a travelling lifestyle. Who knew, perhaps he'd find what he was looking for, out there.

He'd done his share of travelling as an Auror, so he knew the basics of Muggle travel, even if he'd never actually gone on a plane before. He half-expected Scrimgeour or his successors to come storming around the corner with a small army when he first started using magic among Muggles, here. He'd given up on that idea fairly quickly. The whole point of the rules was to prevent abuse, and he wasn't the type to randomly start torturing Muggles anyway.

That stance had been tested, the last few hours; travelling through the air had always been one of his fonder pastimes, but the plane-ride had been anything but. There had been cramped and hard seats, poor food, dreadful noises all around (especially the loud snoring of the man directly ahead.) Harry had cast a few silent charms to ease his journey by softening his seat and warming his food, but even then it'd been barely tolerable. He'd finally found a way of travel he disliked more than the Floo, it seemed.

"Where am I?" Harry wondered aloud as he wandered away from the confused lady at the desk, staring at the signs around the airport with some trepidation – they all had English translations, but above it was just rows of unintelligible characters that told him nothing; it might as well have been Gobbledygook, and he'd never even cared to study that. Soldiers were positioned around the arrival hall as well, their scowls practically imprinted on their faces; they were holding dangerous-looking guns. Definitely not a peaceful nation, then. "What I wouldn't do to have Hermione here, right now..."

"Girlfriend?"

Harry blinked, whirling around; he managed to avoid snatching his wand; still his hand had made it part-way to his pocket, and the amused woman behind him had definitely noticed  _that._  He dropped his hand tiredly, smiling sheepishly.

"Little trigger-happy there," The woman noted with amusement. "I'd watch it, with all the goons with guns around here." She winked. "I noticed you staring into nothing, just now. It looked like you were a cat that just wandered into a kennel of dogs – are you lost?"

"Eh... I'm not entirely sure what country I'm in, honestly, so I suppose that's correct," Harry said, smiling sheepishly. "Going where the wind blows, that's what I'm doing. If you could point me to what continent I'm currently on, that might help."

"I'd get your luggage and find a way out of here, if I were you," The redhead said, shrugging. "We foreigners should help each other out, I suppose?" She glanced at him with a curious look. "Just so you know – this is Afghanistan. Not exactly hospitable and heart of half the conflicts in this region. I'm not sure you could've picked a worse destination to go play tourist."

Harry ruffled a hand through his hair nervously, glancing around. "I suppose I'll figure out if I stay here for a while. I know where the airport is, at least. I'll find my own way out - wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"Ah, don't be like that." The redhead pouted, sticking her hand out towards Harry. "It's no trouble helping out a fellow traveller; I think it's good karma, or something. I'm Natasha. Nice to meet you."

Harry hesitated before shaking the offered hand. "Harry. I  _can_  take care of myself, you know." He looked at her somewhat nervously – he'd not really spoken with much of anyone since he'd arrived  _here_ , and certainly not someone quite as forthright as this lady; the irony of his first acquaintance in a new world being once again a redhead didn't escape him. "I'm not a baby."

"You're a tourist, though. I think you could use the heads-up about how screwed things are around here." She glanced around uncomfortably. "Let's face it: if I didn't have to be here, I'd be on the next plane out and I'd keep running."

"What  _are_  you here for, then?" Harry wondered as he followed Natasha out into the sweltering midday. Coming from the air-conditioned halls, the dry and hot atmosphere was stifling; breaking out into an immediate sweat Harry cursed being incapable of using his wand for a quick cooling charm with so many Muggles around; Natasha didn't seem to mind the heat at all despite wearing a warm-looking dark blue overcoat.

"I'm just here for a little observation – there's some projects around here that need to be kept an eye on, and I'm the one to do it. It's boring stuff. Mostly a lot of waiting, scarcely any action, lots of dreadful reports." She sighed. "It's a living."

"I can relate," Harry muttered darkly. At her inquiring glance, he elaborated. "Worked for the government back in Britain – pretty exciting at times, but the days did get bogged down with a lot extraneous nonsense, especially near the end... You wouldn't believe how much of a mess a single accidental..." He hesitated, shaking his head. "Well,as I said, I can relate."

"Ah, you stopped when you were getting to the good part," Natasha joked, sighing. "You're one of  _those_  guys, aren't you?"

Harry blinked in confusion and raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Those men that act all mysterious, try to pretend they're super-spies or something. I've met my share of them – wild stories of working for secret government projects, that sort of thing. I suppose it's a hazard of talking to strangers, though."

"I'm not," Harry said dryly and he wilted under her skeptical gaze. "Anyway, do you know of any hotels around here? I can't very well sleep on the sidewalk, I'd probably end up smelling like bacon with this kind of temperature..."

Natasha frowned momentarily. "There's a few hotels here, but mostly people avoid the ones in the less savoury part of town... I'll take you to mine, perhaps they've got a few rooms left." She smiled. "Come on, it's only a block or two on foot."

Harry muttered under his breath as he followed the young woman. His laboured breathing after only one block reminded him that he really should get back to training – four years of what amounted to a desk-job had returned his muscles to what they'd been at school, after he'd been so very fit while running around the country as an Auror. He supposed he was still capable enough at Quidditch since his reflexed were fine, but he was crap at everything else,  _especially_ endurance running. A smile made its way on his despite that as he finally caught up with Natasha. They jogged up to what was probably the most dilapidated building Harry had ever seen; even the Burrow had looked more stable, and that was saying something!

"I'll go see if there's any room," Natasha muttered, nodding at him to stay put.

Harry let her go, smile unwilling to go away. He'd never really given any stock to fate: not after that self-fulfilling prophecy had thoroughly dominated his life for several years, not to mention the decade of fame that had followed – he'd really been done with destiny. Still, the first new place he went in this world, the first girl he met immediately invited him over to her hotel. That had to be some kind of record. For once, the interest couldn't have been the 'Boy Who Lived' nonsense which was quite a relief. Harry frowned, finally certain he was alone. What  _was_  the reason Natasha had just come up and addressed him? Happenstance? Harry scoffed at the thought. He might not believe in destiny - but he believed in coincidence even less.

* * *

Weapons developer and wünderkind Tony Stark blinked up at the roof blearily, his eyes roving around as he couldn't quite make sense of what happened – there had been explosions – bombs going off. He'd been in a car. He'd joked with Rhodey, just now. He'd been getting in after a successful demonstration of the Jericho Missile and – blank. What had happened?

He couldn't move: he felt as if paralyzed, shivering even in the sweltering heat; it felt as if it was cold and his chest hurt terribly, but he didn't know what was causing it. Had something hit him? Was he actually dying?

There were raised voices; he couldn't make them out. He only saw flashes intermittently, incapable of keeping his attention; a face, sometimes; screaming, probably his own. The pain didn't go away, but it dulled – his chest still stung like a hundred bees had worked their magic.

From one moment to the next, he shot awake; he blinked blearily into the darkness, his eyes adjusting; it looked – like a  _cave_. He raised a hand to his face, finding a tube going into his nose. Pulling it out was quick but disgusting and as he leaned forward, he once more noticed that stinging pain in his chest.

He had something in his chest. Embedded in his  _chest. What the hell._ Gingerly he raised a hand to the device.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you..."

* * *

"Agent Romanoff. What can you tell me?"

Natasha sighed into the mouthpiece, imagining Nick Fury right next to her, critical glare with that one eye of his focused on her every move."I don't have a lot, yet. He didn't seem particularly paranoid – at least, I don't think he's got any idea about us. Introduced himself as  _Harry_. It seemed a genuine answer. He's staying in the same hotel as I am so I'll have to do surveillance via equipment during the day, or even an idiot would look through my cover-story."

"Keep him under watch – the moment he decides to do something drastic or makes it across the pond, we might have more options. As long as he's non-hostile, I suggest we keep our distance. Banner protocol."

"I doubt he's a big threat like that one," Natasha commented lightly. "He's not much of a spy if he couldn't even figure out my game."

"Nevertheless, I want you to do this. Time permitting, Agent Barton may assist."

"Understood." She put the remote transceiver down and grimaced. She knew full well that Clint Barton wouldn't be sent over – not to Afghanistan, and certainly not now. She turned to look outside and smiled slightly. "Well, Harry. Let's find out what you're up to, shall we?"


	2. Tabula Rasa

It had been an odd week, Harry thought. He sat gazing out over the rugged terrain, the thin pane of glass that separated the bar's interior barely capable of keeping the harsh winds out, particularly at night. It didn't help that distant explosions seemed to grow ever closer every night, and there were more soldiers patrolling the street than he'd seen since he arrived.

The reason that the last days had been truly strange, because Natasha, his self-appointed guide to the war-torn nation, had decided that he couldn't go anywhere alone and had spent the better part of each night dragging him along to every bar and club for expatriates that she could find in a vain effort to figure out his last name, or anything else, really. It wasn't that Harry was particularly careful about using his name – he didn't exist here, he'd checked – but as Natasha had similarly refused to give her surname, it'd turned into a bit of a game.

"You really are just an overenthusiastic gal, aren't you?" Harry asked softly, amused at the concept of Natasha as totally innocent; he had entertained the darkest of suspicions for those first two nights; he'd barely closed an eye. It didn't seem to affect the woman one way or another, and his paranoia had been reined in. Even if he suspected she was playing a part, he doubted the amusement he detected in her voice was faked. He doubted she'd actually go and harm him. He wondered idly exactly what kind of person she really was, without the act.

He could check, of course. Harry shivered, backing away from that thought. He had done some unsavoury things since arriving: he'd obliviated, confounded and hexed a few people where he thought it appropriate. He hadn't considered Legilimency, and he really didn't want to start down  _that_  road. He remembered his first experiences with the discipline far too well, with Snape's sneering face hanging over him, memories rushing by as he tried in vain to stop them from being seen; those terrible moments recalled in an instant. No, that was definitely not something to unleash on unsuspecting Muggles: it was inhumane.

Harry sighed, waving his glass as he waited for another drink; he didn't know where Natasha was, but he suspected it was within eye shot, as she always seemed to know when he left. It was  _interesting_  to go to these places with a Muggle; he had never really done it in his former life, mostly spending time in the magical equivalent, dancing to the Weird Sisters or others. Honestly, it wasn't much more exciting, and he'd only ever gone for the people, anyway.

"Enjoying yourself?"

"Eh," Harry shrugged, not in the least bit surprised that she popped up right beside him, as if from nowhere. "It's nothing special. Why do you drag me to these places, anyway? I'm not really the type... the one time I had to dance, it was tough enough to find someone who could actually teach me how to do it..." He chuckled, smiling at the bartender as she refilled his glass. "Maybe if I get drunk enough?"

Natasha sighed. "I figured you'd like to see the social circles here – you really shouldn't be cooped up in a hotel, you know – or visiting curiosity shops. What was that all about, anyway?"

Harry blinked. "I'm flattered, I suppose –I'm closer to thirty than twenty, honestly. It doesn't interest me as much as it used to."

She gawked, and Harry uncomfortably realized that he'd read wizards were supposed to age slower than Muggles – did it start this early? He hadn't really had many to compare with, given that both Sirius and Remus had good excuses for looking older than they should, and after living essentially divorced from Muggles for years, he hadn't really thought about the issue. Still, perhaps he had simply hit the genetic lottery, as Hermione put it? With a pang, he realized that his parents hadn't really had the chance to find that out. It was strange to think of himself as being the same age or older than they'd been when things went so terribly wrong. It was so very... young.

"I had you pegged at twenty-two. Maybe." She cocked her head to the side. "Really?"

"I swear, my year of manufacture's 1980." He imitated her movement, smiling. "Or would that be 1979, given... well, never mind... I shouldn't have started that sentence..."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You could probably pass for twenty; I guess it's because you shave. Not bad." She shrugged and took a sip from her glass. "This makes you officially my senior, I suppose. Huh."

Harry smirked. "Now I'm suddenly the old fogy, eh? Figures that's how it works. It's sad, you know. When I was small, people tended to underestimate my age too, probably because I was thin. Some people didn't, I suppose, most of them of course knew all about..." He stopped, staring at his glass in consternation. "I can't stop yammering... What's  _in_  this stuff?"

"Alcohol." Natasha answered dryly. "I think the yammering is what it's supposed to do."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes, pausing as he allowed the world to settle back down. Okay, he probably had one too many, now. It wasn't terribly tasty stuff, but it worked. He had to admit that going for strong drinks in a bar like this wasn't something he imagined could happen in Afghanistan. This wasn't exactly where you'd expect an honest-to-goodness dance to ever happen. He supposed that with scarcely a single native around, this bar was essentially the best there was for anyone from outside the country to get what they were used to. He sighed briefly as he imagined him and Ginny, out there on the dance-floor, before he shook his head and looked down at his glass darkly. "I don't think I appreciate this alcohol as I probably should."

"Hmmmm?"

"Brings back painful memories," he said lightly, blinking away. "Never mind, it's not important. Not anymore." He sat in silence for a while as Natasha looked on with an intrigued expression, though she never came out and asked what he meant. "Let's go find some other place," he finally muttered. "When are you supposed to get back to work, anyway?"

"Soon enough. Besides, the last few times I got to do actual work, you ended up having a lazy day at the hotel," she answered lightly. "I swear, you go to  _Afghanistan_  out of all possible countries, and then half the time you end up hanging around your hotel room, alone, or in the strangest places – what on Earth were you doing at that bazaar browsing West African fetishes, anyway?"

"It looked interesting," Harry muttered apologetically, looking away. "It reminded me of something. Besides, it was only three blocks over. They were cute too, those fuzz balls, admit it."

"They were little monkey heads." Natasha said with a stare. " _Actual_  monkey heads _,_  imported and everything. Who on earth would even consider buying such a thing?"

Harry wisely didn't answer; he thought it would probably come across as even worse for his already ruined reputation if he admitted to considering buying a sample because one little skull had reminded him distinctly of Mad-Eye Moody, scowling and barking about constant vigilance; another had been almost dead-on for the old Black elf, Kreacher. He wondered idly if that old elf's head would be kept, along with the rest of the Black's eerie collection; with the last of the Blacks vanishing without an heir, the house would probably be put up for sale.

"So, how long will you be here?" Harry wondered, turning back to his companion as they walked out into the dusty street. "I figured you'd be out of here soon since you've had a lot of free time, these last few days."

"I haven't decided," Natasha answered, prodding Harry playfully. "Come on now, I know as well as you do that the only reason you're hanging around here is because I am doing the same. It's not often that you end up meeting with a fellow world-traveller, eh? Even if you're only a budding one..."

"Fair enough," Harry said, shrugging. "I'll probably catch the first flight after you leave. You're right, I admit it. Honestly if I never see another desert again it'd be too bloody soon, so it's certainly not the environment that's keeping me here."

Natasha snickered. "You went looking for new experiences, though. I suppose meeting me counts?"

"It's better than nothing."

"Hey!"

* * *

Harry frowned as he quickly locked his door and walked over to his hotel bed. He'd been having an uncomfortable feeling for the better part of an hour now, and he needed to figure out what it was.

It had started right around the time he'd left Natasha – she'd gone off to do whatever she did, and he'd elected to head back to his room to catch some shut-eye. Then there was buzzing. It wasn't loud, and if he wanted to he could probably ignore it, but the annoying constant irritation practically sent him up the wall now that he'd actually noticed it.

Drawing his phoenix-feather wand, he narrowed his eyes and cast the first detection charm he remembered – one of the first he'd ever learned from Hermione, actually. That had been an interesting way of life, when he'd just joined the Aurors; half the time he'd run into situations that he didn't really have the spells for: it was a bit of a sink or swim business, Auror training, and he'd ended up asking Hermione for tips to prevent the same thing from happening again. The result was that he'd learned a small arsenal of obscure little charms she'd scrounged up from her vast collection of tomes and research scrolls; he'd had to keep a little manual to go over them occasionally, as he was prone to forgetting the details. In fact, Hermione had mercilessly teased him about that, especially when he managed to blank on the incantation for the levitation spell of all things. It was the  _first_  proper spell he'd ever learned, for Merlin's sake.

"Nothing," Harry muttered as he failed to detect any of the tell-tale glow nearby that would account for the feeling he had, though it did get slightly more pronounced. Suddenly, he recognized the vague buzzing as similar to his reaction when he'd first gotten a mobile phone, courtesy of Hermione and approximately a dozen anti-sorcery charms to keep it intact in a magic-saturated environment. A little while after he'd gotten it, the thing decided to turn into a small firebomb and set his trousers on fire, after which he'd immediately stopped using the things and decided that probably someone less accident-prone should test the latest inventions.

Ruffling through his magically extended pouch (it held a  _lot_  more than what it looked like from the outside) he came across numerous odds and ends he'd picked up before leaving; his old broom, worn and with thin cracks in the surface; he kept it mostly for sentimental value. Somewhere in the bottom had to be the newest model that he'd picked up mere weeks ago: it was still wrapped up, but he had no doubt it'd soar, if the old one did.

His hand brushed past a gossamer silk-like cloth and he smiled in recognition : his invisibility cloak, still working as well as the day he'd gotten it. It had gotten him out of quite a few jams, as it was unusually good at concealing oneself: even better than other cloaks, at that. It wasn't too surprising, he supposed; it  _was_  one of the Deathly Hallows...

The Hallows. It felt a little strange, now, to think of them as that. Aside from Headmaster Dumbledore and a few of his close friends, nobody even knew the highly magical relics even existed; the prizes of the Peverells were altogether too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands, in any case. It was then perhaps fitting that their power was now broken, at least as far as his old world was concerned; he'd retrieved all three before he left, as he was technically still their owner. They'd follow him to death or the closest thing to it.

"Ah!" Harry cried, at last finding what he was looking for, sandwiched between a large stack of Mrs. Weasley's sandwiches which would probably stay good for a decade or more, and a leather book: his photo album, which he'd received from Hagrid so long ago. Somewhere in here was another like it containing many similar photographs from his own time at Hogwarts, including all the exciting parts; Ron's graduation gift to him. He still couldn't fathom how he'd gotten the Creevey brothers to part with those many pictures in which Harry looked decidedly dopy. He pulled his hand free, staring at the wand in his hand for a long moment. He'd scarcely held it since that day, since he'd caught it from the air as Voldemort finally crumbled to the floor in defeat. Dumbledore's wand. The Elder Wand.

He whispered an apology to his phoenix-feather wand, feeling decidedly silly as he did so. He'd not touched this more volatile wand in years – he had honestly expected never to do so again, but the chance to remove it from the world  _and_ have a dangerous ace up his sleeve was too great an argument to ignore. When he really needed it, it would be there. If he was beaten, in this world... Well, there would be no wizard to pick it up; its power would die with him.

"Here we go again..." He jabbed the legendary wand at his middle, the incantation silent, like most his casting had been for years now. The overpowered detection charm sizzled around him, almost tangible; he shivered at the sheer power that was channelled through the unassuming stick. It felt predatory, dangerous, the opposite of the wand that he'd gotten on his first day: the one that had chosen him, as Mr. Ollivander would say.

With an odd squelching noise something suddenly sent a jolt through his leg, as if he'd been jabbed with a needle. Ripping away his jeans, he blinked in confusion at what dropped down, slightly smoking.

It was a little… machine?

* * *

"What do we know, so far, about 'Harry'?"

"Director, we're keeping you informed of all developments; the subject hasn't shown any more signs of strange abilities." The tired-looking researcher turned to his computer and sighed. "Agent Romanoff's keeping a close eye on him – he hasn't done anything strange since he got to Afghanistan. Indeed, it does seem like he actually came to see the sights..."

"I don't care whether he spends his entire day gazing at drying paint," Director Nick Fury muttered, smirking. "I want to know what kind of paint it was and who put it there, if that's the case."

"Yes, sir..."

Fury sighed, turning away and walking to the windows. He gazed down upon the S.H.I.E.L.D. base, drifting along the east coast of the United States at a leisurely pace; teams of mechanics and welders were running to and fro with tools and small forklifts while huge plates were being transported to the side of the vessel with a crane; the Helicarrier was receiving a fix-up. Fury didn't appreciate the down-time; being stuck in one place grated on his nerves. This new – anomaly – did nothing to help his blood pressure, either.

What were the odds, stumbling across a superhuman ability on a surveillance camera? He knew they were possible, of course – he was director of S.H.I.E.L.D, and it was practically in his job description to know every damn thing there was to know about everything – but he hadn't thought he'd just – stumble upon one.

He'd introduced himself as 'Harry', as Agent Romanoff had reported. It was an unassuming name for a person who's just blown onto his alert list from nowhere. He travelled light, and didn't seem too careful; he wandered off the airport with the first pretty lady he came across and hadn't even commented on the fact. Yet – there was something very,  _very_  wrong here.

'Harry', if that was his name, didn't exist. At least, there was no passport that had ever been issued to anyone with that name and matching face, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. computer had access to every such file the world over. He'd run three scans – his specific face didn't appear at all, the closest match being a broom-salesman from the Eighties, and even that was flimsy. No passport, no information anywhere in the most sophisticated intelligence database on the planet and strangest of all, he had no plane ticket.

The man had wandered onto and off an airplane into the middle of Afghanistan without even a ticket, and as Agent Romanoff had relayed the events, he hadn't even been  _stopped_ ; he'd been allowed straight through at the desk, quicker than even normal passengers.

Fury frowned. What kind of clout could a no-name nobody have to get that sort of privilege? Was he in league with resistance groups, perhaps? On the other hand, that didn't explain why the man seemed to just spend his time lazing about and visiting curiosity shops in one of the nastiest places on Earth. It didn't make any sense.

"Should I … inform Romanoff that her orders stand, sir?"

"Agent Triers, I've told you what you need to do. I'll have to think about what to do about this 'Harry'- talk to a few people. Threat or not, he's firmly in our sights now. I'd be damned if I let him slip away."

"Yes, sir" Triers added nervously. Fury turned, gaze wandering over the bridge of the Helicarrier, where a dozen other large computer stations were manned, though most were off. He glimpsed a new face, standing bemusedly at the edge of the room. His next appointment had arrived, it seemed.

"Agent Barton. Come along."

* * *

"Harry!"

"Natasha! Where have you been all day? I could've sworn you said you'd be back within the hour. It's been six." He smiled at her in amusement as she hurried in, looking a bit flustered. "Forgot how to count?"

"I had things to do." She scowled as she took in his lazy posture. "You won't believe how annoying it is when you're calling someone and the signal just drops out on you. I'd passed by here before to let you know I'd be late, but I hadn't really considered the roof. What were you doing there? Do you just enjoy hanging out in odd places to irk me?"

"The roof has a nice overhang. I think other people have used it before for the same purposes. I went to think, I suppose." Harry shrugged, sipping from his soda. "It's really the first time I'm properly out of the country, you know. I've visited before, but I always knew I'd be headed straight back. It was strange, reflecting on how different it feels when you have no such plans."

"You're staying here?"

Harry laughed, shaking his head and pulling a face. "Way too hot and dirty. No, probably not here. I'm thinking of seeing a little more of the world, honestly. China, perhaps. I've always wanted to see some of the sights and maybe I could stop by Babylon, take a look at the Hanging Gardens, they're supposed to be lovely this time of year…"

Natasha snorted. "Unless you have a time machine, there's not a whole lot out there, these days. Do you  _really_ want to go from Afghanistan to Iraq, by the way? Don't you know any actual tourist attractions?"

Harry smiled knowingly. "Well, you never know. The violence has kept safely out of my way, here. I know how to defend myself if I have to, as well." He stretched out his legs on the couch and closed his eyes. "In a way, it's a lot more peaceful than I'm used to. Not a lot less pressure from everyone around me, I suppose. Feels good."

"If war zones make you feel at peace, I think you've been living the wrong life," Natasha commented, squatting down next to him. "Where are you from, anyway? I figured England, but I'm poor at identifying accents…"

"Surrey. Didn't really like it there. I've been back once in the last decade, and that was quite enough." He stretched and yawned. "Really, I'd been planning a little outing for a while now. Away from the stress of being me, you know? Unfortunately, real life kept interfering and ripping me out of my would-be vacation, and my work suffered because of it." He shook his head and pouted. "Hermione, a brilliant friend of mine,  _insisted_  that I find a solution before I drove myself nuts. We were pretty close, so when I requested some time off from my job, she instantly saw through me and was on the porch before the night was through."

"Woman's intuition?" Natasha joked. "So, what changed?"

"Eh, I found a solution. Not a pretty one, I suppose. It got a few people upset, but they'll probably get over it. I cut my ties and left and I'm probably not going back." He looked sad for a moment, sighing. "Hermione was the one who kept me going, you know. All these supposed well-wishers bugging me  _constantly,_ I ended up locking myself in my home and pacing. Ultimately, I managed to slip between the cracks."

"You wanted to escape from people who wished you well?"

"I think you'll find that what a lot of people mean when they say 'Thank you' or 'Please stay', they actually mean 'Fix my problems'." Harry said dryly, pouring the rest of his soda down his throat in one go, coughing slightly. "I've done my duty – and more-so. I suppose it all just got a little too crazy. I had to go. Had to get out of that rut. Unfortunately, being me, there was no easy option."

"Being you?"

Harry frowned. "It's not important. Really not important, actually. You can consider me just another nobody, if you wish. I don't really care. The fact that I've been here for weeks and I haven't even seen a familiar face feels like a miracle." He smirked. "It feels great to be like a blank slate to people. No preconceptions, no ridiculous expectations. Just – just Harry."

The two sat in contented silence as Harry munched on one of Molly's delicious sandwiches – certainly a hell of a lot better than anything they served here. Harry wondered idly whether Natasha even questioned where he'd gotten it. Probably not.

His mind wandered back to that afternoon, to that dirty club with the poor excuse for alcoholic beverages. Someone had put a little device on him: some kind of technological means for tracking, if the few spy movies he'd seen were anything to go by. The only reason he'd even noticed its presence was the volatile reactions that high technology tended to have around magic. With half a dozen charms for cooling on him, it had understandable protested. He was thankful that at least it hadn't exploded into flaming chunks like his dearly departed mobile.

The worrying thing about it was: one didn't track complete strangers. Which probably meant someone had figured out he was here. Still, there was nobody who even knew who he was. There shouldn't be.

Harry glanced speculatively at Natasha and a suspicion began to grow. Was this  _really_  his Tabula Rasa, or not?


	3. Deserted

Harry looked out over the desolate city and laughed softly to himself. He'd been travelling to and fro, even crossing the borders a few times for weeks, and yet he ended up back here again, in this dirty old hotel with rickety beds and smelly drapes, two blocks from the airport. He didn't even need to check in; he'd 'convinced' the owner that he'd already paid ahead. Still, when he managed to scrounge up a few loose coins, he left them for the old man that ran the place; he did feel like he was freeloading. Half the rooms weren't even in use and he made sure he had his own food, so the hotel staff didn't have much to do. It was the thought that counted, right?

Natasha and he had finally parted ways after a month and despite his previous intentions Harry had stuck around the desert after her plane departed, somewhat reluctant to leave. Perhaps it was because silence and loneliness as one walked down the winding streets were strangely calming, and it felt as if time came to a halt; it was a welcome change from the slightly organized insanity of his former life, at least for a little while, and he relished in just relaxing. Despite the dangers of the region, there was a certain appeal to this place. Well, if you could cast cooling charms.

Being alone again felt strange; back home he'd been a recluse. He'd already gotten used to loneliness, and it didn't hurt anymore – after his last year at Hogwarts he'd managed a few excellent years as a newly trained Auror. He'd already gone up against some of the nastiest of dark magic while in school, so it seemed like the next logical step. It'd been a few years, though, when he realized that the Wizarding World wasn't going to stop talking about him; that his defeat of the Dark Lord had put himself in much the same position that it had Professor Dumbledore, and probably for the same reason.

He'd never enjoyed being in the spotlight for things he wasn't fully responsible for: yes, he'd ultimately been victorious, but neither Hermione nor Ron got even half the publicity he did (let alone Dumbledore, whom people seemed to prefer maligning posthumously after Skeeter's biography.) and the rest of the wizards and witches involved got no more than a casual mention. It was constantly Boy-Who-Lived this, Potter-that. Maddening.

He figured he'd held out pretty long – Hermione had been asking how he was holding up for years, probably the only one who even noticed how his new life was wearing him down. Well, perhaps Ginny too; Harry thought she might've held out hope that he'd eventually get back together with her again, but pulling her into his existence as the nation's hero and scapegoat was probably even less desirable than taking her along to fight Voldemort. Of course, it had been a moot point for a few years now – he shivered as he recalled the flames bursting out of the Burrow's upper floors, walls creaking as it just managed to keep back the monstrous blaze.

He'd caught the one who did it, of course and found out what the reason was behind casting  _Fiendfyre_  at the Weasley residence. The memory of that day still stood out in his mind. He'd scoured through the wreckage, desperate to find out what happened to the Weasleys, and had felt extreme relief when Arthur and Molly apparated in; they'd been visiting friends.

There had only been one person inside.

"Stop thinking about it," Harry muttered to himself, rubbing his forehead tiredly. It had been a nasty shock – even if he wasn't her boyfriend anymore, Ginny had always been a close friend. He and Ron had discussed the issue a few times – his best friend sought him out about it, and he guessed he probably just needed to vent with someone that wasn't family.

The day of the fire had been one of a number of dominoes that had finally driven him to go back to the Forbidden Forest, back to the clearing he'd once  _died in_  – it had been a peculiar feeling, standing there once more. There, the Resurrection Stone had remained ever since he dropped it. He'd taken it and turned it thrice; He and Ginny had spoken about a lot of things – about the war, about her death – and about them. When he finally left the forest, he knew he'd not see her again – not before he himself died. Clenched in his fist was the stone.

Harry sighed deeply at the memories. They weren't pleasant ones, but they were a few years removed now, and he knew that he wasn't blamed for anything that happened; that he had little impact on what had occurred at all. He hated it – saving people was literally his job description, at the time. It had been Hermione and Ron, his oldest friends, who had convinced him that he shouldn't put blame where he shouldn't. He still didn't quite know how they managed  _that._

Compared to good old England, Afghanistan was an oasis of calm: quite the ironic proposition, though he supposed it'd had more to do with his identity than with the environment. Even trying to hide his face with glamours had gotten old quickly, and aside from his closest friends he couldn't remember just talking to someone for half an hour without a dragon's load of preconceptions and greatly exaggerated tales of his heroics getting involved.

Natasha had been a better conversation partner, at least; that was one definite upside to the solution he'd finally reached for his problem, of straight out leaving the world he knew. Natasha was far too intelligent for her claimed job as a consultant for businesses, Harry was sure. The fact that she was hiding things from day one hadn't escaped his notice. He wasn't sure how much he cared; he did the same thing.

The stained and worn bed in his hotel room had a vaguely unpleasant smell that Harry had not been able to remove; not even some of his more powerful cleaning spells could touch whatever foulness had crawled inside that mattress and died. Still, sleeping here was better than the street, or that one awful night he'd decided to just crawl up under his invisibility cloak out in the wilderness, and a donkey had managed to trip over him. A  _donkey._

Yet, even with all the nasty aspects, he had to admit that he enjoyed it. He enjoyed just being himself again, not the 'greatest wizard of Britain' or the 'Dark Lord's killer' or the 'Master of Death'. Well, still the latter he supposed. The fact that his schedule was a complete void today was remarkable. It was something that had not happened for nigh on a decade, back home.

"One last trip, then?" He asked idly.

Natasha hadn't been honest with him, he was aware of that. It'd not taken him long to suspect her of planting the device he'd destroyed. From there, he'd begun to second-guess everything she'd said, before he managed to calm himself down and breathe. Even after reconsidering, her smiles seemed genuine and he actually enjoyed their little outings, however artificial they might've been. If she'd meant him serious harm, she'd had half a dozen opportunities already, and she hadn't taken any of those. Plus, he had his magic, and if necessary could shrug up almost any assault a Muggle might want to throw at him – even a talented and flexible one. The fact that his first acquaintance here had ulterior motives was unfortunate – but at least he'd gotten a good few weeks out of it. Now, she was gone, and he had to admit he kind of missed her.

He sighed mournfully as he thought of the fact that he'd probably never see her again; soon he'd go off the grid again; vanish into some other county. It was easy enough to do with a well-placed  _Confundus_  or three, that was certain. He didn't have any number he could reach Natasha at (Harry didn't even have a phone, for that matter) nor had they shared contact addresses. The only thing they really shared was this crappy little hotel in the armpit of the Middle East, one good knock against the walls away from being just another hole in the ground.

He glanced across the street, groaning in exasperation as he spotted, once more, that poorly-disguised white fellow acting as if he was a local. Granted, the make-up was pretty good, and even he'd been fooled the first day; that is, if he hadn't followed his pursuer under the invisibility cloak after seeing him spend a little too much time watching the hotel and noticing him removing a convincing wig he wouldn't have known. He wasn't the only one, either: he'd spotted a number of suspicious figures staring at him. He supposed that after spending half his life fighting dark wizards, he'd gotten used to being a bit paranoid.

They were doubtlessly there to keep an eye on him; that they had appeared the day after Natasha left was interesting, and Harry had speculated for some time on the reasons. Who was she, really? Was Natasha even her name? Ah well, as long as his little entourage stuck to being wall-flies, he could deal. He was leaving them behind soon enough.

Harry stood up, stretching his limbs as he shook out the stiffness. Today he'd go out into the wilderness, he decided. It'd been some days since he'd done that: just wander until there was nothing in sight, man nor building, just the earth and the sky and him. Though he kept his invisibility cloak on, just in case, it was a great joy to grab his broom and spend that time flitting low over the yellowing grass and make loops around the few trees that dotted this arid region of the country. He didn't get to fly enough, back home. Here, he could very well choose to cross the entire country without running into even one obnoxious Ministry official with a warning letter and a face caught somewhere between smelling something disgusting and mild annoyance. He hadn't tested out his new broom yet; actually he was a bit hesitant to rip apart the packaging. It was probably because it was the last 'gift' from home he hadn't opened yet.

Striding to the edge of town, Harry watched as a large plane slowly made its way into the sky from the nearby airport, its enormous bulk looking far too gargantuan to actually gain any lift, but it succeeded anyway, soaring into the great blue with remarkable speed. He was still somewhat amazed at the fact that it  _wasn't_  magic; he hadn't really grown up ever seeing things like this, and the Wizarding World didn't care for it. He wondered how Muggles could forget the majesty of such machines – the closest Muggles got to sorcery.

Losing the man tailing him was easy enough; Harry slipped into an alleyway, of which there were  _hundreds_ , donned his cloak, and simply walked out right past his guard. He'd managed it a few times already. One time he'd stuck around, curious to see what would happen; he'd been disappointed to found out that the only result was a phone-call, not anything serious. Harry held out some hope that perhaps he'd called Natasha.

Harry covered a great distance at an incredibly pace, even with his old broom; ancient as it was considering the advances in brooms over the last decade, his trusty Firebolt had still been the fastest broom available in its day, and it showed. Cruising over the sands at what had to be a few hundred miles an hour, the distant mountains came markedly closer every time he checked; the dunes under his feet flew by so quickly it seemed like he was on a vast ocean, the waves crashing upon the mountains rather than the beach.

It was about an hour later (and halfway across the desert, Harry figured) that something suddenly felt very off. It took him a moment to make it out; it was the smell of fire. Something was burning and foul plumes of smoke wafting away from wherever the fire originated sped across the plains; he'd been well above the ground at the time, which was probably why he caught it. There were other scents in the foul gust, though he couldn't make out what they were: gasoline, maybe? Sulphur?

Harry snatched his wand from his pocket, brandishing it before him. He coughed slightly as he accidentally inhaled some of the acrid fumes, but forced himself to ignore them. " _Point Me._ " That charm was a handy one that he remembered using back in Fourth Year: concentrate on where one wants to go, and it'll point the way – give or take an Acromantula encounter or two.

The phoenix-feather wand spun on Harry's palm once, twice, three times, then finally slowed down and ended up pointing to the northeast, almost directly into the wind.

"Well, that's not much of a surprise…"

* * *

The impact was hard and sudden; shards of metal and pieces of twisted steel scattered everywhere, spread across the dune in a wide circle around his landing point as in the distance a massive fireball blasted into the sky. The explosion had to have taken out what remained of the stolen Stark weapons, and fairly distributed them into itty bitty pieces. Tony Stark took a few moments to try and clear his head, shrugging what remained of his protective armguards away. He was delighted to find his body in one piece – though his suit was ruined. Damn.

He shoved open the faceplate of his impromptu battle armour, squinting into the bright sun and blinking away white spots. He took a moment to marvel at the fact that he was even alive. The suit had worked. It had  _worked_. "Not bad…"

Getting out of the scattered remains of his absolutely insane invention had been tougher than getting in. Despite its looks, it had been pretty cosy inside the contraption, and consequently it took Tony the better part of half an hour to free his legs, which had then long decided that they'd achieved enough for a bit and had gone comfortably numb. Still, he couldn't complain, they were both whole.

"Definitely need to make opening this easier, next time…" Tony muttered with a critical eye at his ruined creation as he finally managed to stumble away from the crumpled metal and exposed wires; his eyes wandered across the desert wasteland, nothing of which was even remotely recognizable to him. Well, it was recognizable as desert.

He was most definitely lost.

The first hour was bad – he'd turned his shirt into a makeshift hood, but the sun beating down on him and the exhaustion that he could feel into his very bones were taking their toll. The fact that he'd spent the last three months in a cave with substandard healthcare certainly didn't help, either.

The horizon swam before his eyes. Tony wasn't entirely sure if it was a fata morgana, or if he was simply hallucinating. He'd expected more women if it'd been a hallucination, though. All he could see in the distance were rugged mountainous terrain, he wouldn't even  _try_  climbing those bad boys, and a vast sea of sand stretching into the distance.

He managed a dry chuckle, trudging onward, hoping that he'd estimated his position fairly well. Unfortunately, since this guess covered a region of a hundred square miles, there was a good chance he'd miss any towns entirely.

Fantastic.

* * *

Harry was about as well-hidden as he could manage, floating close to the sand to keep out of the occasional gusts of wind that came out of seemingly nowhere. A vast billowing cloud of dust and gas had briefly dominated the distant skies; it looked to Harry somewhat like a great volcano had exploded, scattering its flaming guts all over the surrounding countryside, though he'd only ever seen it on the Dursleys' telly. He was pretty sure there were no such great fire-breathing mountains in the area – he'd probably have found them mentioned in the many brochures or books he'd read while studying the region (and this world at large, knowledge was power.) Perhaps he'd misread the maps?

He was broken out of his musings when something peculiar appeared in the wobbling image of distant sands, right near the horizon: a black spot in an ocean of sand. It took a minute before he'd gotten close enough to identify it, and he was shocked. There, strolling across the desert dunes with slow steps, at least forty miles from even the flimsiest excuse for a town was a  _person_. Harry flew over at slow speed, careful to avoid startling the man. The wanderer's arms were burnt and bloodied and he had his shirt wrapped around his head to protect from the sun, though it was at best partially successful, as he was stumbling drunkenly along. Judging from the tracks, his time was running out.

"Bloody hell…" Harry muttered, looking up towards where plumes of smoke still rose slowly into the air; he was quite close to where the fire was, now. It required a Supersensory Charm, but he could still detect petrol, kerosene, burnt rubber – definitely not a volcano. It was probably not a good idea to stick around.

He landed behind the nearest sand dune, quickly depositing both his broom and cloak in his mokeskin pouch; he couldn't very well use them in plain view of a Muggle, after all. After slipping his wand in his pocket he made his way across the great wave of sand with some difficulty, unused to the loose dirt. The man hadn't noticed him, stumbling onwards like a drunken Inferi.

"Hey! Are you alright?"

* * *

Tony blinked, looking blearily around him and rubbing a hand over his face. It took him a moment to take in what he was seeing. A man, a young man, dressed in the most preposterous yellow-and-red shirt he'd ever seen was approaching him, descending a sand dune with remarkably athletic moves. "There were supposed to be… women."

The dark-haired man sped to his side as he faltered; his knees were finally giving out now that he'd stopped: he managed to avoid crumpling to the ground, but it was close. Tony took an offered bottle of water without comment, gulping deeply from it; his throat was parched.

A second glance towards his saviour didn't make the image any more sensible than it first did: standing in the sweltering sands at the heart of Afghanistan with him was a short bespectacled twenty-something that definitely wasn't from around here if his complexion was any indication. He also had a ludicrous fashion sense, and seemed strangely nervous, as well. Suddenly, Tony stopped entirely, his mind refusing to keep processing for a few moments as he realized that something was not right. Very much not right.

"Sweat."

"What?" The man asked with a genuine look of confusion. Huh. He hadn't actually noticed, then? In this heat? Preposterous.

"I said, your sweat."

"What about it?"

" _Where is it?_ " Tony looked at the man's neat clothes. They were all clean and dry; an impossibility in this weather. The man cursed loudly, running a hand through his hair; Tony briefly spotted what looked like a vague scar near his hairline; jagged, shaped vaguely like a thunderbolt. The stranger grabbed something from his pocket. Tony wondered for a moment if he was going to get shot right here, just after he'd managed to escape imprisonment in the most amazing way possible. That would be a serious buzz kill.

Tony blinked and shook his head; he almost fainted for a moment there, which would have been highly embarrassing. He didn't remember what he'd been doing just now. He forced his eyes to focus on what was in front of him. The stranger who'd found him looked worried. He frowned at him over round glasses as he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket that he'd tied around his waist.

"You must've been wandering out here for a while, right?" The stranger wondered, turning around. "I've been walking for only a few hours, I can take you back where I came from, get you some help. You look like you could collapse at any moment."

Tony didn't quite know what to make of his saviour: definitely not the kind of person he expected to run into, out here – but he would take what he could get. "That's not an inaccurate description," Tony agreed woozily. "Say, you don't happen to know any U.S. military around here, do you?"

"Military? What for?"

Tony sighed, rubbing his tired legs until they served again. They might as well have been slabs of meat right now and it was a small wonder he could remain standing. "We're sort of – friends, I suppose? Just… tell me, alright? My head hurts, I can't quite feel my lower body and I'm tired."

"Right – I have no clue, but I figure a village might have a phone, right?" The man stuck out a hand. "Harry."

"Tony – Tony Stark." Well, that got a reaction. He couldn't suppress a smile. "Yeah, look, if you help me, I'll pay you back for it, alright? Did I mention I can't feel my lower body? I think I need to have that looked at, it's a part of me I like."

"I'd hardly take money for saving someone's life," Harry muttered in response, ignoring his jibe. Tony sighed as he saw the stalwart look on the face of this Harry?

"Call it insurance then, Callahan."

The man blinked in confusion. "We'll talk about it later. For now –  _walk_."

* * *

"Three days, really?" Tony asked, aghast.

"Yes, you couldn't be roused," Harry answered, wondering whether or not the man would have experience with this and wouldn't notice the difference between magically induced slumber and plain exhaustion. "It was a chore, dragging you along though at least you got to safety, didn't you?" He pointed to the pile of bloodied clothes heaped against the wall. "I left all your stuff there – I don't know how much of it can be reused, though. You managed to wreck them pretty well."

"I really should get in contact with Rhodey," Stark muttered, glancing at the clothes Harry had given him; Harry had simply enlarged some trousers and a shirt that he'd brought along from home. "At the very least it's time for a new wardrobe – this stuff doesn't even have labels."

Tony Stark was an odd fellow. He'd recognized the name, of course; it came up more than a few times in his study of this world's past, and he had the sneaking suspicion that much like there was no Harry Potter in this world, there had been no Tony Stark in his own. What he'd read about the man included quite a few unflattering descriptions of being an arrogant, conceited, utterly insufferable genius. Regardless of his personality flaws, he had what had to be one of the world's greatest minds slouching around his room.

After Stark had finally collapsed (Harry hadn't really anticipated an hour of trekking through the desert, but he supposed it was bearable with company) he'd stunned the man and pulled out his broom. Obliviating him twice in a day was probably not his greatest plan ever, but at least he had a plausible reason for why the man might not recall arriving here; it would have to do. He was still embarrassed he'd forgotten about his Cooling Charms, and somewhat glad that he was the only one that remembered it.

Harry had been a bit hesitant about actually calling the government as Stark had suggested; the Ministry of Magic was decent enough after Voldemort's influence was eradicated, but the few times he'd ended up interacting with the Muggle government ( _especially_  the American one) things had gone poorly. Probably it was because the Muggles were just as fond of keeping secrets as any wizard- but whereas most wizards were content with their little masquerade that kept the common man from finding out about magic, Muggles had found their own outlets.

A lot was different in this world... but probably not the way people worked.

Still, Harry couldn't just keep Stark around; though he'd poured a potion against inflammation and fever down to man's throat when he was unconscious, anything more serious than that would probably require some serious explanations – and he wasn't just going to tell a Muggle what he could do. The potions were already a bit of a risk; he only had a limited supply to use, and he couldn't just walk to the nearest shop and buy some more. He was lucky there were no other Muggles to observe the miraculously quick recuperation that followed after administering it.

Considering his options while Stark was out, he'd finally bit the bludger and used the payphone in a nearby shopping centre (or what counted as such in a poor region like this) to make an emergency call, so the man could have proper medical care. Whoever he'd been connected to on the other end had sounded quite incredulous, but at least Stark's name made things happen.

"Callahan?"

"Stop calling me that," Harry muttered, scowling at the tired-looking billionaire. "What is it?"

Tony propped himself up in bed, throwing aside the blankets and sitting up. "I wanted to thank you, alright? I don't know how long I'd have been wandering out there without aid, and I'd probably never have made it anywhere. So, thank you. You're okay. Weird, but okay."

"I suppose I'll take that as a compliment."

Stark leaned forward, a playful glint in his eyes that set Harry's teeth on edge. "You found me a ride out of here; you can come along, if you want. You're a Brit, right? I've been to England before, it's crap. See a little of the world. I certainly like to do that."

"You're offering me a ride?" Harry asked, amused. Actually, it wasn't even that crazy an idea, as he'd been intending to leave for a while now. This had been his last trip through the wilderness after all. Quite an eventful one, it turned out. "Where to then, Mr. Stark?"

Stark scowled. "Call me Tony, please – you make me sound so old. I could drop you off wherever you want, even back in the U.S. if you're interested," Stark said, shrugging. "I'll probably end up telling people what happened about a dozen times before the week is through, by the way... you don't mind being mentioned, do you?"

Harry wavered for a moment, and then shrugged. "There has to be an interesting story on how an arms tycoon managed to get himself lost in the desert," He smiled. "I suppose if you want to write down my name, feel free – can't do much to stop you. Can't say I'm all that excited about the military getting involved, though." Honestly,Harry figured his first name would be useless for figuring ou anything: it was common enough. He could just make sure that his last name was accidentally left off.

Harry looked curiously at the man he'd rescued, realizing that the man before him was pretty famous and revelled in it, as far as he could tell. "You have all the publicity you could ever want, and you still relish it, don't you? Even now, you're planning what to say, what to do."

"I admit, it has been good for my ego."

Harry sighed. "I can't imagine it; I'd crack if all that attention was constantly focused on me, you know. People whining about autographs and deriding every mistake you make." He thought back to those years after Hogwarts and grimaced. "I'd like to just do what I want, do what has to be done, and to be normal at all other times. I don't much like the limelight."

"Those are probably the types of people most deserving of being in it," Tony said sagely. "The whole publicity thing; I admit, it's a great boost to one's ego. There's a little more to it, though – you influence people. Granted, I've mostly influenced people into buying more of my stuff, but the principle's the same regardless of how you end up being seen."

Harry shrugged. "People aren't stupid – even if you weren't parading around, things wouldn't suddenly fall apart."

"Ah, there is where you and I disagree," Tony noted dryly. "Never underestimate the power of stupidity."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I've had my share of public embarrassments. I really wouldn't like to add to them much. I imagine with the kind of publicity you get..." He gestured to the pile of magazines that were stacked in the corner, all of them featuring Tony. "I managed to spot you on magazines in the middle of bloody Afghanistan; if you do even the slightest thing wrong..."

"Oh, when I do things wrong, they're big things," Tony responded softly, looking troubled. "The media doesn't really bother me; generally I even like the paparazzi, they keep me on my toes. The real reason I can deal with them though is that I can change things, if I really want to. The worst I could do is ruin my image, and I'm not that attached to it, even if I appreciate the status it brings me."

"What if you've already changed things, though?" Harry wondered. Back home, the years after the war had been dedicated to reform; the entire Ministry had been torn apart and built up again, with a sturdier basis. Near the end, they'd offered the job of Head Auror to him. He was the first of the new batch after the war, after all, and everyone knew his name. At the time, he's said no; he hadn't felt ready. In reality, he realized, that was about the first sign that the legend of Harry Potter was getting too large for even Harry Potter himself to hold.

"Things can always get better, I'd say. You can only quit if the world's perfect." He raised his hands and smirked. "I know, I know, you're being so sappy right now, please talk about engines and rockets again, Tony."

"Speaking of engines..." Harry said suddenly. He strode over to the window and ripped the curtain aside; he'd indeed heard the rhythmic sounds of distant propellers. "Your ride's almost here. I can already see the helicopters. Can you walk?"

Tony jumped from the bed; he didn't even wobble. "As long as I have my two legs, you can bet on it. If not... well, give me a week or two to fix something up. I think you meant 'our ride', by the way. " Harry muttered uncomplimentary remarks towards Tony as he stepped into the blazing sun, though he couldn't help but smirk at the man's sudden enthusiasm. He probably couldn't wait to get out of the grime and dirt and bathe in diamonds or whatever rich people did. Though Harry had quite a fortune of his own (both from his parents and from all the 'well-wishes' he'd received after the war) he didn't think Tony to be the conservative spender type.

Two huge military helicopters were approaching quickly, much to the consternation of the locals; young children were quickly rushed in by their fathers, several getting rifles ready. Thankfully they landed some distance from town, blowing up dust and debris as they did. Several people jumped out of the wide doors at the sides and rushed towards them in full army gear; Harry quickly stepped back as one of the soldiers rushed up to Tony with a look of mixed disbelief and joy.

"Well... How was the 'Fun-vee' ?"


	4. Stranger

"Tony Stark."

"Yes, sir. We just retrieved word from army contacts: Stark and our Harry were picked up about four hours ago, and stepped on a plane almost immediately – Stark's private jet, as is to be expected." Agent Triers turned, shrugging. "I'm just relaying what I received, I don't have to make sense of it. Two months of slouching around Afghanistan, then this."

"So he's with  _the_  Tony Stark?" Director Nick Fury shook his head in incredulity. "Well, I suppose when it comes to this sort of thing, I should be expecting the incredible."

"You don't suppose he's got anything to do with Stark's disappearance?" Triers wondered, frowning. "He vanished right around the time that Agent Romanoff started observations, didn't he? From what I understand, Stark was exhausted and had some wounds, but was generally in good health. He was pretty lucky."

"I doubt Mr. Stark would willingly share a ride with his kidnapper, so I doubt that our guy's complicit. At least, not directly." Fury stared at the picture on screen; it showed Harry as he stepped into a helicopter at Stark's urging. "For now, let's not jump to conclusions. It is perfectly possible that these two met by coincidence. Unlikely, but possible."

"Do you want me to have him stopped at the airport? He's currently still in the company of Mr. Stark, so pickup would be easy, there." Triers hands flew across his keyboard as a video feed enlarged to fill up most of the screen: an internal camera on one of the helicopters, pointed inward. Besides a bandaged-up Tony Stark who seemed to be dozing off sat their target, the elusive Harry. Even after several more searches through every database S.H.I.E.L.D. could get its hands on, no matching face had been found, only partial hits, and poor ones at that. Whoever this was – the security footage was the first time that anyone had ever seen him.

"Leave him be, for now. He has a habit of vanishing when someone's following him too closely, so I doubt we'd be able to keep up with him even if we tried. If we're taking him in at all, the assault would need to rely on surprise and right now our target's about as alert as you can get." Fury frowned at the sharp gaze that the man possessed; he was keeping an eye on all the military personnel and the possible exits; a soldier, perhaps? "Try to get another bug on him, a working one this time. I don't want a screw-up again."

"Yes, sir."

Harry had been quite the headache over the last few months: ever since he'd been spotted on security footage from Scotland, he had a constant observer assigned to him and still he managed to slip away from every single one. In Agent Romanoff's case it was perhaps understandable; she needed to keep her distance during the day to avoid raising too much suspicion, and there were some lacunas in observation. Things had only gotten worse after she'd finally been reassigned in the wake of the realization that Harry wasn't interesting in sharing any more than he had.

Seven different agents, all previously stationed in Afghanistan, had been tasked to keep an eye on Harry at all times. They'd all been highly trained and were quite capable and yet they might as well be amateurs to this guy. Several reported that they'd been spotted while undercover or hiding, but there was never a reaction from their target; the mystery man returned to his hotel room and appeared unconcerned by being observed, occasionally letting them know he was still aware of their presence. Fury theorized the man was so casual about it since nobody could manage to even keep up with him; half a dozen times every week he would walk into town and just vanish. He'd turn into a blind alley or an abandoned house, duck behind a wall to tie a shoe and before the assigned S.H.I.E.L.D. agent could get a better view, he'd gone. It was  _infuriating_.

Teleportation: that's what the tech-heads had called the man's ability. They only had a single shot of it, and it was poor in quality and frame-rate, but it was most definitely something they hadn't seen before, and that was a worrisome prospect. Superhuman feats weren't unheard of, but experience had shown that almost every time something like it popped up,  _someone_ had been mucking with the most potentially dangerous of sciences; genetics, proteomics, gamma radiation. Who then was responsible for Harry?

"Call Agents Romanoff and Barton to my office," He said sharply to Triers, straightening his jacket. Triers was one of a handful of people who had first identified the peculiar security footage as a matter that S.H.I.E.L.D. should investigate, which also meant he was now one of the few that was even allowed to know about it. It was lucky in that regard that he'd already had a high security clearance, or he might've ended up locked up. "I want to be kept updated on this – this Tony Stark business."

"Understood, Sir."

* * *

"You look... quite uncomfortable."

Harry rolled his eyes, stretching out in his comfortable chair. Unlike the cramped and noisy plane he'd taken to get to Afghanistan, Tony's ride was obscenely luxurious, decked out with televisions and a considerable collection of expensive wines. The chairs were probably real leather and they felt great. Still, even a great seat couldn't erase a day's worth of constantly being ordered back and forth, following the orders of people you didn't even knew. He had seriously been rethinking going with Tony any further when the billionaire finally vouched for him and the incessant requests for documents and explanations halted.

"Unlike you, I've actually consciously experienced the last day," he finally answered, glaring at Tony. "I figured after your three-day nap you'd be done but no, there you went, snoring all the way to Germany. I knew nobody, you must realize. The only reason they'd even let me on the plane in the first place was because someone remembered you'd mentioned me." He shook his head. "It was lucky you woke up before we left, I'd probably have been left in Germany."

"I thought you didn't care where you were going?"

"Well, sure – but Germany?" Harry pulled a face. "Last time I was there, someone saw fit to try and throw me out a window. I suppose once doesn't make a trend, but I'd like to avoid future defenestration if at all possible."

Tony chuckled, bending over the laptop he'd procured in Germany. Very expensive and very sleek, probably the latest model, though Harry barely knew where the button was to turn it on. He'd never even considered buying one – If they were anything like mobiles, that was probably the safest choice. Harry hoped for Tony that it was water-proof as the man was sloppily sipping from a glass while typing with his other hand. Tony caught his gaze and tapped the screen. "Hope you don't mind me working a little on the side – had some ideas, and they bounce around till I write them down; it's quite aggravating. Ah, the perils of being a genius."

"Well, your ego's in fine working condition, at least," Harry mused. "I was wondering… you seemed pretty close with the guy that picked us up with the helicopters. Road-something?"

Tony nodded, pouring himself another glass. "Rhodey. Well, Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes if you want to be all accurate about it; we go way back. He's the military's chief liaison with Stark Industries when it comes to weapons, though that's just official business. Mostly I just invite him over for a beer whenever I feel like it."

Harry smiled, thinking of his own best friend and, more recently, co-worker at the Ministry of Magic; looking back on things, he could scarcely imagine himself become an Auror (or working for the Ministry, by the end of his Hogwarts years) but they'd both managed to gain that illustrious profession, and Ron was still active. With Hermione employed by the Department for Law Enforcement as well, they'd had a few remarkable years reforming the entire crime system. Harry thought Hermione probably deserves most of the credit, as she'd actually done the heavy lifting: literally, when it came to her obscenely huge books on Wizarding Law.

Tony closed his laptop, shoving it to one side. "So, I'm curious, how  _did_ you find me out there? I checked military satellite images of the cave I thoroughly blew up – you picked me up nearly a hundred miles from that town I woke up in." He leaned over, narrowing his eyes. "Unless you're a remarkably quick jogger with the back muscles of a gorilla, you didn't carry me that distance on foot."

Harry gulped, reaching for a plausible excuse. The first thing that came to the forefront of his mind was that night he'd spent alone under the stars, when he'd been awoken by... well, it was worth a shot, at least. "I had donkeys."

"...Donkeys." Tony just stared for a few moments.

"Pretty quick ones, too. I tied them up near one of those little crevices along the mountains, that's where we were headed." He tried not to blush; he'd never really gotten the hang of straight-faced lying. "It's where I kept the rest of my supplies, too – figured it wouldn't be too smart to take them into the wilderness with me."

Tony looked highly sceptical and Harry had to struggle not to look away. After a few moments the man nodded. "Donkeys it is, then. Perhaps I should consider giving your reward to a few of those noble animals. I suppose it's lucky for them I wasn't still wearing - well…"

"I don't want a reward," Harry answered shortly. He gazed out the window and smiled as he saw the distant ocean; it was easy to forget he was even airborne without the wind rushing through his hair. "I'm already in your plane. I'd think that was enough."

"Perhaps that'd be enough for saving  _a_ life, yes, but in this case, we're talking about  _my_ life. You'll have to undergo at the very least the tender mercies of my assistant before I let you off the hook for that one." He winked. "She's a bit of a looker, but let's keep that between you and me. Seriously though, Obi will want to thank you, the sentimental old coot."

"Obi?"

"It's short for Obadiah, a bit of a mentor of mine, if you wish. I'll introduce you to him later." Tony turned back to his laptop but stopped. "I wonder if he'll hug me for returning or strangle me for getting caught in the first place."

Harry snorted. "Well, I suppose meeting them will be a refreshing experience: it's been ages since I've had to deal with the 'elite', shall we say. You're definitely not in that category. Old families are the worst; old money, old prejudices. If anything, you'd probably be considered the new kid on the block for some of the people I recall."

"I'm sure it'll be great fun," Tony said with smirk. "Now, there is – one thing you might want to clear up, before we go through all that… who exactly  _are_ you? I noticed your little trick with never showing anyone your passport - pretty swift fingers, by the way – and I don't think you've even given me a last name."

Harry sighed; he knew it'd come up eventually. If he'd been on his own, he'd just charm his way past the clerk and move along. He probably couldn't get away with that while surrounded by Muggles. "You're not the first to inquire," Harry answered diplomatically, already preparing with some regrets to obliviate the man again. "If it's a problem, I'll just leave the moment we land, no strings attached."

"No, nothing so drastic." Tony noted with a frown. "I know you saved my life and all, but you're kind of giving me suspicious vibes; just want to make sure we're clear on that." Tony leaned back casually, hardly seeming bothered by the whole affair. "It's not the first time I've brought a person whose name I didn't know and with questionable status as a citizen into my house. Well, I suppose you're a  _bit_ different than those girls…"

Harry groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I can promise you I'm no threat, but you'd probably doubt that too."

"I think you're too bad at lying to actually cover up any malice," Tony commented idly. He opened his laptop again, glancing at his guest. "Want to help me out with tracing your background? I think it'd go quicker that way."

Harry smiled cheekily. "You know, you're not like I expected. I hadn't really anticipated running into any multi-billionaires so I can't say what exactly I thought they'd be like, though." He looked over his glasses, narrowing his eyes. "You're definitely not it."

Tony shrugged apologetically. "That is probably why I'm not the one running the day-to-day stuff. I like to tinker on things, invent new stuff, live a little. I leave all the boring stuff to other people." He smiled widely as he stretched out in his seat. "It's one of the luxuries of being me. I do what I like and I get paid for it, too!"

Harry snorted. "I know what kind of business you run. I'm not sure if the guy inventing all those missiles and other tools of destruction really should be commended, given what those things are used for; I paid attention, back in Germany. I suppose I can at least give you credit for style."

Tony didn't answer for a while, staring out the window blankly, humming under his breath. Finally he turned with a sigh, eying his drink. "We'll have to discuss that some other time. Meanwhile I'll have to call someone about you. If you want to avoid getting thrown in prison the moment you arrive, you need some kind of I.D. Luckily I know someone who can help with that. Thank me later." Before Harry could ask or even comment, Tony had pulled a sophisticated mobile from his pocket and speed dialed a number. "Yes, Jarvis? Could you – "

Harry sat back, ignoring the one-sided conversation as he thought about his future plans, in as far as he had any immediate ones. He'd taken Tony's offer simply because it was given – it fell into his lap. Soon he'd be on the streets of the U.S.A. – he knew little more than general landmarks, and he wasn't quite sure where the capital was, again. In the Northwest, wasn't it? Well, at least it beat his knowledge of Afghanistan before he'd arrived.

Leaving that nation had been long overdue as it didn't look like Natasha was coming back, and he really had no reason left to stick around. Besides that, if he was correct about the people keeping tabs on him, they'd probably follow him anyway, if they could find him.

"Daydreaming?"

Harry frowned. "Just thinking. I figured after I see the sights and meet the people you'd like me to, I'll need a new destination."

"There's a little more to do in the States than the hole in the ground you just crawled out of," Tony observed dryly. "For one, it has a lot more entertainment, and it's better, too. Trust me, I'd know, I've sampled most of it."

"I don't go to places just for entertainment," Harry protested. "I haven't really been around. I've seen glimpses of different countries, but I've never lived anywhere but back in the UK. Travelling around the world, seeing strange places: I like it, and I'll probably keep it up."

Tony shrugged. "If you enjoyed the hellhole you just came from, I'm sure my abode will be closest to heaven you've ever been."

* * *

"I understand that you want surveillance, but I figured that spying on people was more…  _her_  territory." He nodded towards Natasha Romanoff who stood beside him.

"Here's why." Fury brought up a video-feed; it showed Tony Stark and Harry in Germany. "Our target is heading towards the U.S. right now, and he's a wildcard. Nobody knows who he is, who he works for, even his name." He tapped on the screen and a large photograph appeared of the man standing soberly at the edge of a dance-floor, his face clearly visible, his hair swept aside just enough to show a thin scar, shaped like a lightning bolt. "What we do know so far is that he's  _unusual_  and that means unpredictable. Even assuming he can only use his  _trick_  for purposes of escape, we're dealing with someone that no average agent could ever catch. We need a little more."

Barton nodded tiredly. "How do you believe my presence will change matters? I am quite good at doing exactly the things you don't want, here- taking him in or taking him out."

"We're not doing that – yet. Truth is that this target has not shown any hostile intentions to anyone, and we've not been able to tie his presence with any particular events that happened in Afghanistan, aside from his rescue of Mr. Stark. Though we might prefer so, teleportation is not illegal."

"It's not supposed to be  _real,"_ Barton muttered.

"I've considered the repercussions of what our actions might lead to and concluded the best way forward we have right now is to avoid antagonizing him until we have a better idea of what we're dealing with." Fury grimaced. "One can only imagine what an enemy of ours might do with something as potent as instant transportation."

Barton sighed, glancing at Natasha. "I didn't say I wouldn't take this assignment, but I'd better get a half-decent mission to make up for it afterwards. I'm not much for babysitting."

"You'll do as  _ordered_  and nothing less." Fury tapped the screen before him, bringing up the map – at that moment a bright green dot was slowly inching its way across the Atlantic towards the East Coast. "If you can shoot arrows, you can shoot pictures. He's heading for Los Angeles, so that should give you plenty of high ground. Report any and all anomalies immediately. If Harry endangers anyone, you can take him down. I know you have non-lethals in your collection."

"Hmmm," Barton sniffed. "He'll never know what hit him."

Fury turned to Natasha, next. "As for you, Agent Romanoff- you'll be working with Miss Hill for the remainder of the month. I've received word of a potential mission that suits your skills, and I'd prefer it if you were at hand when it goes through.

"Yes, sir."

Fury shook his head tiredly as Barton and Romanoff left, gazing at the frozen picture on his screen. He didn't like mysteries, much, that's why he solved the things, and here was a walking one. A living and breathing example of the impossible.

Striding back onto the bridge, Fury focused on the tasks before him; S.H.I.E.L.D. had far more active projects than just the one he'd been looking into, and some of them were nearly as peculiar. There was Banner, for one; he dearly hoped that particular file would remain as dormant as it had been for some time, now.

"Director? I think you might want to see this."

Fury quickly strode over to the balding researcher that had called out. "What is it?"

The man hesitated, glancing nervously at Triers, who was two seats over. "We just got a hit, sir… a bunch of them, actually. Passports, driver's license, even permits for a  _tanning salon_. They just… appeared. Wait – yes, there was another hit just now; something called 'Trembling Th-'"

"Understood." Fury frowned at the screen, noting the forged files popping up one after another; whoever was busy providing their unknown with a backstory was thorough, but probably hadn't counted on the fact that people had already expressed an interest. "Take note: there is a highly capable hacker in league with our Harry. I want their identity traced, right now."

* * *

Magic. It had to be.

Harry had noticed the slightly glowing circle under Tony's shirt before – back in the dirty excuse for a hotel they'd been staying at, but he'd identified it as something highly technological and stayed well away from it, given the way things tended to violently stop functioning when he was around them for too long. Yet it wasn't some nifty piece of technology. At the very least, it wasn't  _just_  technology.

He couldn't quite pinpoint what had tipped him off; perhaps it was that when he'd passed Tony on the way to the plane's ridiculously luxurious bathroom, the man's laptop had flickered for a split second, while the shining circle had remained a constant. Perhaps it'd been that strange feeling, reminiscent of the tingling he felt when he cast detection charms, which seemed to be constantly present, like a hum on the edge of hearing. Once he'd noticed, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Everything in this entire world up to now had suggested Muggle. He'd visited every magical site he knew in all of Britain; there was no Diagon Alley, no Burrow, and no Hogwarts: nothing. He'd tried to find magical items as he knew quite a few that had been stored in Muggle museums in his own world and later retrieved by wizards: once more, nothing. The few times he actually found what he was looking for the object in question was decidedly mundane.

Then suddenly there was a little glowing circle of light had thrown that for a loop. There  _was_  magic.

Harry shifted in his seat and Tony suddenly jerked upright, blinking furiously. The man turned to Harry lazily, wiping his eyes. "Again? Well, it seems that sleep's becoming a bit of a habit. I should probably wean myself off it again as it is  _very_ unproductive."

Harry smiled, glancing at the object that had caught his attention. "Since you're back with us in the land of the living; I noticed that light display of yours…"

"Ah, that's an Arc Reactor," Tony answered. "This one's my own creation; it got a couple of people real upset, in Germany. Irresponsible witch-doctoring is what they called it, I believe. I don't really care: the thing's saved my life." He tapped it. "I think a few of my competitors would sell their arm and leg to get a hand on this puppy… "

He'd  _made_ it? Harry wondered for a moment if he should comment, but finally decided not to, settling for gazing out the window as he pondered this. He'd anticipated magic as he knew it, when he first stepped through: that hadn't panned out. The world being all-Muggle; that made some amount of sense. Magic existing but not being magic? Well, that was just  _weird_. "What does it do?"

"Well… it's a reactor," Tony answered, slowly. At Harry's blank look he rolled his eyes. "Electricity: it generates a lot of it."

"Ah, right." Harry shook his head bemusedly; he should've realized that – of course, since he hadn't used electricity in ages, it was easy to forget how Muggle technology really worked. Half the time he was convinced some contraption was just enchanted to do what it did, and he gained some measure of understanding for the likes of Arthur Weasley who hadn't even grown up with Muggle technology. Not that his own meagre knowledge of those days were of any help in modern day, it seemed: Hermione was really the one who kept up with that sort of thing.

Tony gave him a strange look, and then typed something into his computer. "We'll be landing in about an hour. If you want to catch a bit of shut-eye, now's probably the best time to be doing it. I've had enough of it to last me a week."

Harry shrugged, eyes wandering back to the windows; he couldn't quite see the coast yet, but it wouldn't be long now, he suspected. "I thought it was unproductive?"

"You don't seem to care much for productivity, I've noticed."

"Well, it  _is_ supposed to be my vacation, you know…" Harry answered with a shrug.

"Ah, how could I have forgotten? You're the person that spends his free time lounging in  _Afghanistan_."

Arriving over land at last, Harry stretched his legs. He wondered idly how long he'd stay around here; he'd never been to the U.S. before, never mind Los Angeles, so he knew little of what to expect. He only really remembered the impressive skyline that he'd seen on the Dursleys' television, the few times he'd actually gotten the chance to watch and that wasn't going to be a lot of help. Nicely decorated as it was, sitting around in a big flying metal box could actually get a bit tedious.

Tony seemed mildly amused at his impatience, straightening the suit and tie that he'd procured in Germany while Harry haphazardly tried to make do with the clothes he had on when they first met (though he'd finally had them washed.) One unfortunate side-effect of having a miniscule pouch with all your stuff was that you could never use it when Muggles were around.

"Well, welcome to a new continent," Tony quipped as the plane touched the ground. "I could really go for a local delicacy right about now, to wash that awful desert flavour out of my mouth... What do you say? Want to get a cheeseburger?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's your money."

"Well, yes, but I don't think I'll go broke from getting the munchies." Tony answered airily. It took a few minutes before they'd rolled to a stop and towards a huge hall; a primly-dressed gentleman opened the plane's door and the two quickly stepped past him, heading down the long flexible tunnel that led to the airport proper. "Oh, and Harry…?"

Harry turned to him just as they made their way around the corner and the first flashes started.

"Well, I meant to tell you, what with travelling with  _me_  on  _my_  plane, that anonymity thing you were so fond of might be a bit of a problem."

Harry groaned as he looked out into the arrival hall: dozens of reporters with photo cameras large and small were aimed at the two of them and a few television cameras. Even if he had the kind of power to obliviate such a crowd (perhaps he could, with the Elder Wand) it was too late now. His face would be on the news.

"… _Bollocks_."


	5. Poison Ivy

Spending time on the Helicarrier could be both exciting and dreadfully boring - Natasha concluded with some exasperation that today could be classified in the latter category. After being reassigned to assist in operations on board the base, she'd quickly found out that there wasn't terribly much for her to do right then; with a majority of agents present, the only things that were free turned out to be insanely boring data entry tasks and, perhaps even worse than that, patrolling the server rooms.

She had some idea of why Fury had set this up; he had to be well aware she'd essentially be spinning her wheels here. She wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a reprimand, but she did believe it had to do with her time in Afghanistan – about her unsuccessful attempt to ferret information out of a person of interest that, even now, S.H.I.E.L.D. knew only as Harry.

It was remarkable how little she'd ultimately figured out in the weeks she'd spent near him, Natasha mused; even though Harry had frequently mentioned events from his past, he had always ended up being incredibly vague on the details, and there was no way of telling if he'd just been making things up or if they really happened. The only solid information she's learned in all that time could easily be listed on a single page, and scarcely anything was actually useful. (For example, she wasn't sure if the fact that he had a dog named 'Snuffles' in the past was really something to keep on record.)

Natasha supposed she should've realized things would be strange from the beginning, though; Harry hadn't even known what  _country_  he was in when he arrived (or at least claimed not to), nor did he speak the local language, yet he'd stuck around for far longer than what seemed reasonable, seemingly completely without care about the state of the nation he was in. Harry had come across as carefree and laid-back, definitely  _not_  something she'd expected in what Fury had described as a rogue element. She didn't think he'd been playing it up, either.

Fury was right about one thing: there was more to the man than the veneer of being a tourist suggested, that much was clear. Sometimes when he'd been telling her one of his vague stories about the past there had been real pain in his eyes, or he'd stop talking mid-way through, gathering his thoughts with some apparent difficulty. When he'd mentioned his boarding school and the many hours he'd spent there he'd gone positively nostalgic, even. Besides all that, of course, there was his uncanny ability to disappear; she was somewhat gratified to know that every other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who'd attempted to shadow Harry after her had a similar lack of success. She wondered how long it'd take Harry to piss Fury off with that – knowing the latter, probably about two days.

It hadn't been until she'd been recalled that the official priority of finding out details about Harry had gone through the roof, Natasha had realized; she'd left Afghanistan with some reluctance as she'd hoped to keep chipping away at the mysteries of the alleged superhuman, but it seemed it wouldn't have much of a difference anyway if her successors were any indication. Even with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s considerable resources, the man remained an enigma who effortlessly evaded their eye whenever he wanted to – he had to have the eyes of a hawk to catch on so easily. After the incident with Tony Stark, she wasn't the only one who noticed that Fury was practically fuming. Now, with Harry's arrival on American soil, it was only a matter of time before S.H.I.E.L.D. would be tasked to interfere, and she had a sneaking suspicion that was precisely the reason she'd been kept close.

Sighing, she took a quick break from the monotony of transferring data from the global positioning system to the Helicarrier's database, scrolling idly through her e-mails; a handful of messages had arrived from various technical staff members which she promptly ignored. Instead she clicked on an old message she's already read – it'd been sent by Agent Clint Barton, currently the one appointed to keep an eye on Harry.

She and Barton had a long history together – they'd been colleagues for years, two of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s finest, and they'd been sent on a number of missions together. Though they both specialized in combat, they really had different views on that from all the way back when they first got to training together; she'd always been interested in close-range combat; he'd preferred to avoid it. In a way she was sad she'd missed out on sharing her early training with him, as she'd been in Russia at the time.

Natasha ended up the spy on top of an assassin; training her acting, physical skills and mental manipulation of the enemy had been her focus far more than any particular weapons, though she wasn't half-bad with a couple of them. Barton was a singularly impressive expert with the bow, though – the best she'd ever seen. That he was assigned to Harry probably meant that things were going to get pretty interesting around here.

She turned back to her screen, getting ready for yet another lengthy sift through endless lists of boring data, and she barely stifled a yawn; mostly the data consisted of last known coordinates for a great number of people kept under surveillance, though she'd yet to see a familiar name pop up. It wasn't thirty seconds after she started that her computer suddenly protested, throwing up a bright yellow warning.

"Missing file? What…?" She quickly shoved the error to the side, scrolling down the log that'd been kept of every action so far; half-way through the latest list of addresses – hundreds of them – she found the culprit; only his name and title remained. Natasha quickly sent a video uplink to the bridge.

"Yes, Agent Romanoff?" Fury inquired, one-eyed gaze turning to her. "I trust this is urgent?"

"Sir – I just found an erased entry from the locator database; it's probably been blanked before we ever copied it to local servers." She frowned as Fury raised an eyebrow, urging her to go on. "It's about someone called Dr. Pym."

* * *

"Well, I would apologize – but I think we've covered that," Tony said dryly, closing the door of the little 'Smoker's room' behind him firmly. Two employees of Stark Industries waited patiently outside; they'd been sent to pick him up but were now staring bemusedly at the bickering. "I didn't figure you'd blow up on me."

Harry cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he paced. He'd managed to edge his way to the side when dozens of reporters descended on Tony, but plenty of them had taken note of Harry as well, much to his chagrin. It didn't help that Tony was cavalier about it. "Next time you have any bright ideas like this, spring them on me  _before_  I run straight into a dozen reporters," Harry spat, scowling. "What on Earth gave you the idea that I'd  _want_ this sort of attention?"

Tony shrugged helplessly. "What can I say – I am flabbergasted that they took pictures of you too – I mean, I was there, after all – that should've been enough of a decoy." He shook his head as he noted Harry's unchangingly grim look. "You did give me permission to mention your involvement."

"By  _mention_  I did  _not_  mean spread my name across a dozen newspapers and television stations," Harry responded sharply. "I thought I'd made it clear that I don't appreciate this kind of thing. You're glad I didn't go on a rant to those paparazzi of yours."

Tony sighed. "You're not a fugitive, are you?"

Harry stopped, blinking at Tony in confusion. "No – what on Earth makes you think  _that_?"

Tony raised an eyebrow, shrugging. "It would explain the stick up your ass when it comes to this media thing." He shrugged carelessly at Harry's scowl. "You must know this works – the papers will write about you a few days, you undergo the terrible burden of compliments by people who like heroics, and then it's all over again. There's a reason they call it fifteen minutes of fame, you know – well, unless you're me. They'll still be talking about me."

Harry dropped into one of the cramped seats and shoving aside a full ash tray which spread a vaguely disgusting smell. "You  _do_ understand what anonymity means, right? I didn't come here to be gawked at – I'd rather avoid that if at all possible, to be frank. I finally have what I wanted – and here  _you_  come and splash my face on the bloody paper, ruining that! Of course I'm upset about it, wouldn't you be?"

"I don't have your fear of fame, clearly." Tony responded. "Usually people want to get on the air, not off it…"

"It's not  _fame_  that I fear," Harry answered, thinking back uncomfortably to his Boggart – it wasn't always the same over the last few years, but it still commonly took on the Dementor's form. More recently, though, it had occasionally taken on a shape he'd found very hard to laugh at: himself, seemingly normal - except in the eyes. They were red and vicious, dancing with madness and rage. He shivered as he even thought about that image. "I appreciate the flight over here and your hospitality – the papers you've given me will come in handy too, I'm sure – but I'm not going to spend my time tagging along everywhere and going along with your every whim. Certainly not when you attract this much attention to me!" He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "This time, the press might forget I exist - but if we keep showing up together… I might end up a bloody celebrity  _again."_

Tony looked away, seeming vaguely remorseful for a moment or two, though it was overtaken by curiosity as Harry cursed himself for saying that much. He knew Tony wasn't being malicious – just rude – and unlike back home, the papers would not keep harping on the same things, probably.

Still – the damage was done. If they had not followed him here already, his photo in the morning paper would doubtlessly put Natasha and her people right back on his trail. Given that Natasha had met him at the Afghan airport, it was possible that someone had simply noticed his illegal travel - but he seriously doubted it. The unusual degree of scrutiny he received could only have one easy explanation: they knew about his magic. Somewhere, somehow, he'd been too careless, and the Muggles had taken notice.

He had a sudden uncomfortable realization why the Statute of Secrecy existed back home. It wasn't just for the protection of Muggles, nor to guard the Wizarding community itself: it was to avoid precisely this kind of thing, where Muggles would get mighty interested in what they didn't have, and probably not in a good way. Hopefully the ones keeping an eye on him weren't interested in dissection – or more traditionally, burning at the stake.

"Well – the damage is done, now. Thanks for making me feel like an ungrateful prick, by the way," Tony said, slouching. "Pepper does always warn me I'm too impulsive…"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, really?"

"Hey – a little gratitude if you please! I did let you hitch a ride on my plane – without knowing your name, at that! Who does that?" He pointed at himself and smiled. "Tell you what – we'll discuss all your personality issues over a nice chianti and a stripper or two, back at my place. Sound okay?"

Shaking his head in amused exasperation, Harry wondered what he'd done in this world to lead to  _this_ ; it was all well and good to save someone's life, but the rest of it he really hadn't expected, and frankly it was a bit too familiar, being the hero in the news once more. Hermione would doubtlessly be quite amused that he'd managed to get himself into trouble again so very quickly, but Harry felt a shiver run down his back at the same. Was he just going to get right back to what he left behind?

"I'll be leaving," Harry announced and Tony suddenly sat up straight and stared at him. "Oh, don't worry – I'll come over to gape at your cars and such later," Harry added, narrowing his eyes. "… I just have to do something. I suppose you can call it unfinished business."

"You told me you've never been here before." Tony noted dryly. " _Everything's_  unfinished business for you here."

Harry rolled his eyes, getting up. "I should probably get to it, then. Leave a light on for me." He turned to leave, hesitating briefly as he slipped his wand to his palm. "I'd appreciate only having to rescue you once, so don't do anything crazy."

"I'll try," Tony said with a smile. The man finally sighed, looking more serious than Harry had seen him since they met. "When you're done with whatever 'business' you have, come find me – I'm sure you can get an address from any half-decent map." He hesitated for a moment. "Whatever you're up to - avoid getting into trouble with the law, alright? I'm incredibly awesome, but not omnipotent, and with all this attention – that sort of thing would probably ruin my image too."

"Wow, you almost managed to make a statement that didn't end up self-serving," Harry said, opening the door. "See you later, Tony."

"Harry."

Slipping his wand back into his pocket, Harry smirked – with that tracking charm in place, he wouldn't need a map.

* * *

Los Angeles was amazing – Harry couldn't find any other way to describe it. He'd spent the last half hour just walking the streets, staring up at the gargantuan skyscrapers that were a dime a dozen in the heart of the city; even the smallest of the buildings was probably taller than Hogwarts' Astronomy tower, and there were so very  _many_ of them. He made his way from street to street, just taking in the bustle and thought with some amusement that it reminded him of a particularly busy night in Diagon Alley; there were almost as many strange people around, too.

Strolling away from the heart of the city towards the less ridiculously busy parts took him a lot longer than he'd anticipated, but he didn't really care too much – after months of living essentially in isolation, it was refreshing to get the complete opposite: strangely it didn't feel all that different, as none in the crowd even spared him a second glance; not quite yet. Harry mused that perhaps he'd need a disguise the next time he set a foot out here – a hood, perhaps, though he couldn't help but remember the Death Eaters who'd covered their faces.

Going up in the crowds reminded him of a few operations he'd done back in his own world; working as an Auror he'd occasionally be sent out to the International Confederacy of Wizards. The organization had a far reach, as the name suggested, so it had inevitably been in some other country he'd never been before. Though the stays were always short, he'd gotten to see magical communities throughout Europe, and even one or two in Africa; aside from Germany – which had been a bit of a disaster, really – France and Spain had been his most frequent destinations. As for the Americas – well, Wizards have long lives and longer memories, so relations between the U.S. and British Wizarding governments were not very friendly.

Strolling through this huge city, practically swamped by vast numbers of Muggles, Harry felt quite small and insignificant; he'd never really thought about the way Wizards were far outnumbered, given that he lived in a community that was all-magic. Here, though, he was alone: perhaps the only wizard on the entire planet. Numerous intersections were far too crowded to cross and one time he was actually rebuffed by a rotund police officer, after which he'd simply elected to head in another direction, uninteresting in making trouble; he didn't have a particular place to be, anyway.

Moving away to the less extravagant parts of the city, he passed a shop filled to the brim with electronics – lots of televisions, though they were a lot flatter than he remembered, alongside a great variety of various black boxes with functions he wouldn't dare try to identify. He realized with some dismay that he'd not really kept up with things, despite Hermione's urging. It was a bit ironic, Harry figured, that he'd grown up thinking Mr. Weasley was a bit mad for having no clue how Muggle things worked – but here he was, in that same position – just with technology a few decades (or centuries) more recent.

He perked up in surprise as he realized that one of the televisions behind the window was showing a picture of him and Tony - he quickly stepped into the store. There was only one person there at the moment, a bored-looking woman in a shirt with the store's logo on it. "Can I help you?"

"Could you turn the volume up on that one, please?" Harry asked, glancing back at the television – A tall grey-haired man was shown speaking while sitting behind a large desk, but no sound came out. The woman shrugged and retrieved a remote, and Harry quickly sat down to watch.

" _Multi-billionaire Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, has returned to American soil after several gruelling months in captivity; he was held in an undisclosed location by what sources indicate was a terrorist cell. It is believed the kidnappers were intent on stealing Stark Industries weapons technology._ " A video started playing, showing Stark and himself that afternoon, at the airport. " _Mr. Stark was accompanied by an unidentified man who is believed to be the mysterious rescuer that saved Stark from certain death in the Afghan desert; details are forthcoming."_

"That's… you."

Harry sighed, turning to the store clerk who was looking over his shoulder with wide eyes. It figured this would start immediately. "Mind not making a fuss? I'd hoped it would take a few hours yet before they started reporting this, honestly." More footage was shown – helicopter footage from moments after they were picked up, a brief shot of him and Tony talking animatedly in Germany – when he'd finally been vouched safe – as well as Tony arriving at his home, being embraced why an older man. "Huh, that must be 'Obi'."

"Is it true, what they're saying? Did you really save that Stark guy from the desert?" The clerk asked nodding towards the screen and Harry turned to her with an embarrassed nod.

"It was a coincidence that I found him, and I couldn't just leave him – anyone would've done the same. At the time, I didn't think it would get all this attention, though I suppose that's what you get when dealing with the ridiculously rich."

"It was very noble of you to do that, for anyone," She said, smiling. "Wait a moment – I'll get you a cup of tea. I think you deserve one." Moving quickly out towards the back, Harry focused back on the television; the same few shots were being repeated now.

" _Mr. Stark has reportedly called a press conference for later this afternoon, addressing the future direction of the company; speculation is rampant, but some believe…"_

"Here you are," The clerk approached with a steaming cup that smelled rather delicious.

Harry nodded in thanks and sipped the drink, wondering idly what Tony would be talking about that afternoon; he had vaguely mentioned a press conference but not what it was about. It stood to reason he might want to put everyone's mind at ease after his long absence, though. The news show finally moved onto another topic – but not before showing his picture once more and questioning his identity.

"So, do I get a sneak peek into who you are?" The clerk asked, smiling widely.

Harry finished his drink and smiled in return, reaching into his jacket, where he'd put the papers Tony had smuggled him at the airport. The news show would certainly have this information as well, before the night was through. He sighed miserably. "Well, my passport says Harry… Callahan."

The clerk smiled widely. "That's nice! Are you feeling lucky? Well are ya, punk?" She mimed shooting a pistol and Harry blinked in confusion. "You know, Dirty Harry? The movies?"

Harry shrugged, putting down his cup. The clerk actually seemed disappointed that he didn't know what she was trying to say and he forced a smile. "Well, I'll be off. I still have a few things I have to do this afternoon. I appreciate the tea."

"No problem, no problem – you do what you have to do, and come here for some more tea when you have the chance - there's always room for heroes where I work." She smiled, turning down the volume on the television. "If you ever need anything fancy like you see around you – do come here!"

"I will," Harry affirmed as he stepped outside, though he knew that he'd probably never actually do so – he'd been living without such stuff for years, he wasn't about to change it now. He quickly scanned the street ahead of him; he'd checked when he went in and there had been a man across the road, dressed in a brown coat – and he was still there.

"Oh, you're  _good_ …"

* * *

"Director Fury."

"Agent Jezebel – you have an update for me?"

"Indeed." A smiling face appeared on Fury's screen as he enlarged the window. "The lure worked – the target came in right after the footage played. He gave his name as 'Harry Callahan' – the same one that was set up by the hacker's activities. He also had his papers handy - I think we can safely conclude that the target's aware of and is already using his new identity."

Fury nodded, frowning. His target was quick – mere hours after arriving in the States he'd managed to not only arrange for false paperwork but retrieve it as well – without S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence having any information on how and when. "Did you achieve your objective?"

"Affirmative – it's confirmed that the Nano-drones are active and transmitting, and the first data should be arriving at the Helicarrier as we speak. He drank all of it."

Smiling deviously, Nick Fury turned to Triers for a moment. "Good, good. Agent Barton will take things from here – I'll see you when you return to the Helicarrier. Fury out."

"Understood. Jezebel out."

"It actually worked?" Triers asked as Fury turned to leave. "I figured he'd stick with Stark – how did you know he'd go  _there_?"

Fury smirked. "I didn't – the contingency that Harry would go out on his own was based on his actions in Afghanistan as our agents reported them – he had a tendency there to wander and explore, usually alone and it's no different here." He tapped the screen, and a map popped into view. "As for the lure – well, almost everyone wants to see themselves on television, and all the other networks have yet to air their story – it was inevitable that he should take interest."

"If you say so."

Fury didn't answer, but he smiled smugly at the overhead map of Los Angeles – with a little green dot moving down one of the streets.

* * *

Harry walked quickly – he'd palmed his wand again, keeping a close eye on the windows in hopes of spotting his watcher. He'd been anticipating that Natasha's people found him again, and now he pondered what to do about it: tracking him around the globe was getting a bit too much like stalking, especially since he didn't know what their goal was in doing so.

He moved through a convenience store and quickly slipped out the back entrance – that would buy him a few seconds, at least. Before he could pull out his invisibility cloak though, he felt eyes on him again and turned around nervously – knowing when you're being watched was one of the first skills that Aurors picked up on, and one of the reasons that Mad-Eye had been so damn paranoid; there was  _always_ someone watching.

It took him a moment to find his pursuer (knowing there was one made finding them a hell of a lot easier) and found him – on a roof. He blinked incredulously for a few moments; less than two minutes ago the man had been standing on the street, now he was twenty feet up on a roof and peering down from the building directly across the street. Thankfully the man hadn't noticed he'd been spotted yet, but Harry worriedly noticed that there were no ladders. That had to be one hell of a climber.

" _Repello Muggletum._ " Harry intoned softly, smiling slightly as he noticed the man suddenly turn away – after a few seconds however he turned back again, shaking his head; the spell hadn't taken properly. Probably he was simply too far away for the spell to work for any appreciable duration. "Well, that didn't work…"

Quickly he slipped back into the convenience store, keeping an eye out to see if the man would move – when he remained stationary he made his way to the back; he was glad to note that his spell  _did_ work here: several Muggles wandered off the moment he came near them, and he made his way to the stairs in the employee-only stairs in the back without getting stopped. Making his way up he dared a look out the window – the man following was holding something in his hands and for a moment Harry thought it was a gun – then he turned slightly. It was a  _bow_. Were they actually going to try and shoot him with an  _arrow?_

"Well, let's get creative," Harry muttered, making his way to the top of the next set of stairs: with a simple  _Alohomora_ he made it through the heavy locked door and stepped into sunlight. He was on the roof directly opposite the one that his quarry was still perched on, looking down the sight of his bow towards the store like a hawk hunting mice.

Harry vanished, appearing with a pop on the roof adjacent to Barton; though the man looked up momentarily he immediately turned away again - the muggle repelling spell was working after all, then. Good. Harry sneaked a little closer, casting a Supersensory Charm that would amplify sound - at once the rumble of cars in the streets and the distant roar of busier roads forced themselves into his head, as well as a pair of loud heartbeats; his own and the one of the man he was looking at.

" _Agent Barton - keep us posted on the target's movements - we are having some trouble getting a proper signal._ "

A chill ran down his back as Harry considered that wording - 'target'. Between the military clothes the man was wearing and the high-tech bow in his hands, he wasn't sure if he was looking at the government or some private army - either option was pretty disturbing. He couldn't just let these people go - not when they'd send people with actual weapons after him - but how to approach it without causing a fuss?

With a start, he realized that he was dealing with a Muggle here: a lot of the spells considered frivolous to use on dark wizards such as most tracking spells, befuddlement charms, and so forth would actually work - unless he was severely mistaken, there was nobody even checking for them let alone able to remove their effects. A smile worked its way onto his face. This could be interesting...

The radio suddenly crackled to life again, and the voice sounded somewhat panicked, this time: " _Agent Barton - our computer is reading target's position on your roof - I repeat, he's on your roof!_ "

Harry stifled a curse, quickly snapping the first listening charm he could remember and apparating back to the roof he'd first been on. He quickly looked over to the other roof - Barton was walking to where he'd just been with a confused expression.

_"The target's signal has returned to where it was and is fluctuating once more. Querying the techies on that, now."_

_"I didn't see anything on this end - has to be on your end."_

Harry smirked victoriously - his spell was performing flawlessly. Now all he'd have to do was wait.


	6. Spirit

Harry stepped out of the convenience store with an irrepressible grin, listening idly to Barton and whoever he worked for. There was a brief mention of his reappearance followed by stony silence. Harry sighed. He scowled as he thought of his sloppy work on the roof, nearly getting spotted, and by a Muggle no less. It had hardly been up to his usual standards. He realized uneasily that without practical experience, his much-vaunted skill at catching dark wizards had gotten rusty.

" _Agent Barton, we're still getting intermittent signal drops. I _–_ s there any electromagnetic interference in your area that we are not aware of?"_

" _All my equipment works. I thought the drones were supposed to be hardier?"_

Harry's good mood evaporated quite quickly as he realized that he'd once more been tagged with some kind of tracking device, as well  _drones_ , whatever those were. It was another thing that wouldn't have happened to him on the job, though he'd never had to deal with the Muggle equivalent before. He thought of the miniscule machine he'd found on his leg, back in Afghanistan. Before his magic had shorted it out, it had to have worked at the very least since he last met Natasha.

Harry started walking again as he realized he was doing a fair job at blocking the sidewalk; an old lady scowled darkly as she pushed past, muttering a few words in such a strong accent Harry had no clue what the words were even supposed to be.

' _Target is moving. I'm following."_

Harry sighed. With these spies hanging over his head, his plans for a nice and relaxing time were getting mighty unlikely. Rescuing Tony had clearly not helped matters - he doubted anyone would take his word for it being coincidental. He could practically hear Hermione telling him that she'd predicted this. She'd repeatedly argued that it didn't matter whether or not he was well known or a face in the crowd: he'd always end up doing the right thing, and that was not usually stand by and watch. She'd once called it his 'saving people thing' and sometimes it was very aggravating.

Harry thought about why he didn't just pack up and leave, why he was actually planning on going to Stark's place like he requested, rather than vanish someplace else, find a way to ditch his pursuers, and continue what he'd started in Afghanistan. The only thing he could come up with was that Hermione had been right, at least partially: he couldn't stay away. Even when there was nothing whatsoever in this world that he really knew, since he was but a visitor, he'd ended up caring what happened to the people he met. He couldn't just cut and run; he wouldn't have done that in his old world, and the new one was not  _that_ different.

Harry sighed, glancing around the great city. Muggle or not, perhaps he  _could_ find some semblance of what he was looking for.

Now, there were pressing matters. Agent Barton – though what kind of agent, Harry didn't know – would doubtlessly have to go back to his colleagues eventually, and that would give an interesting opportunity. An opportunity to spy. Though he'd not placed a tracking charm, the listening charm should be enough to warn him when the man was switched out with another, and then he'd follow.

The biggest hurdle, of course, would be doing something like that without letting Barton or any of his sort know about his presence; he'd have to find and destroy the new tracking machines they'd planted, or shut them up for a while. Unfortunately, staying hidden from technology was not exactly his strong suit; he hadn't ever needed to learn. That was starting to be a handicap; when he'd arrived he'd just breezed past Muggles left and right, but it was clear that would no longer work. If he was honest, that had probably been what warned the locals; so convinced was he that there was nobody to smack his fingers for using magic, he'd forgotten that the Muggle world had its own innovations to boast about.

That, Harry realized, was one of the things he hadn't really grasped, in Afghanistan. The country wasn't highly technological, or at least not the part he'd been in. It wasn't like this city with cell phones and laptops and whatever else everywhere; it'd been comfortably similar to the Wizarding World in some regards, with the height of advancement commonly used consisting of old boxy televisions and cars, which just reminded him of the Dursleys.

There was one person he could ask – he didn't quite know how he'd broach the subject though, since the man would probably laugh in his face. Tony Stark was a technological revolutionary – Harry had read the magazines, understood less than a tenth of them. Unlike himself, effectively unfamiliar with any technology newer than the nineties, Tony would know  _all_  about tiny tracking machines. Unfortunately it would bring up a  _lot_ of uncomfortable questions.

If all else failed, he  _could_  just hit himself with a whopper of a detection charm again. It'd worked well enough last time, after all. Of course then he'd have to be on the lookout for yet more of the things, and he didn't even know how they got these newest ones on him. He'd have to be – the corners of his mouth twitched up – constantly vigilant.

* * *

Director Nick Fury paced through his office with thinly-veiled annoyance, a crumpled report spread out across his desk. He'd been elsewhere for most of the day, and when he returned, this happened.

"You mean to tell me that the target is somehow messing with the Nano-drones," he said harshly, staring at the nervous technician that'd taken a seat across from him. "Messing with one of the most technologically sophisticated tracking devices that S.H.I.E.L.D. has access to."

"Over a fifth have stopped obeying instructions altogether," The wiry man argued, pointing at the frayed pages that Fury had been reading. "The rest are all experiencing technical difficulties. Short-outs, confused directions, so forth. An electromagnetic field might be responsible for that, though I wouldn't know one small enough and powerful enough to carry on a person and have such an effect."

Fury scowled, staring at his computer's screens, where an image of Harry was shown, alongside the video that'd originally alerted S.H.I.E.L.D. to his existence. He frowned, glancing back at the computer as a thought occurred.

"Agent Romanoff?"

The face of a mildly bored Natasha appeared on screen, raising an eyebrow. "Director Fury?"

"Your report from Afghanistan... I recall reading a mention of Harry and exploding cell phones?" Fury rubbed his chin. "Did he ever mention anything else that related to electronics malfunctioning? I have a hypothesis…"

Natasha frowned. "I recall him mentioning something about crashing a car into a tree, that's the closest thing I can think of. Other than that, I can't really say. He didn't seem the type to use gadgets very much, anyway."

Fury nodded. "This teleportation of his... we have no real insight into how it works, which means we don't know what it would look like to our drones. Perhaps the 'malfunctioning' is not so much that our machines are faulty, but that they're doing things they're not designed for? It must be his 'jumps' that short out electrical equipment."

The technician coughed lightly. "If this Harry is actually spreading an E-M field of some sort, that would explain it, but it would also be worrying." He frowned as he pulled a small booklet from his pocket. "Our Nano-drones are state of the art but even they won't survive a proper electromagnetic blast. We'd lose the signal within days at the rate things are going."

"I want you to find out if we have anything to shield properly against such effects; there are only so many times one can trick a man into drinking an army of robots. Assuming I am right concerning the reasons for the signal's corruption, the glitch reported this afternoon was likely  _not_  just a glitch. The computer reported the signal vanishing, reappearing in another building moments later- far too quick for a human to walk over. I think we can assume he teleported."

"To do what? Sight-see across the street?" Natasha wondered, then paled. "…Barton."

Fury nodded grimly. The technician took his cue to leave, quickly putting the little booklet of specifications back in his pocket as he went. Fury hit a few keys and brought up audio communication. "Agent Barton, we have some new information for you."

"Director Fury?"

"I wanted to inform you that we have likely confirmation that Harry is aware of your existence; like in Afghanistan, he seems to have a knack for spotting his pursuers." Fury sighed, tapping his fingers together impatiently. "His teleportation seems to be interfering with the drones we placed, so we cannot properly track him for at least a short time after he uses it. Being careful is a must. He could attack you from a blind spot at any time."

"I doubt he's going to do that now," Natasha commented to Fury as he closed down the connection to Barton. "He's had months to do so across the pond, and instead he went to museums and curiosity shops." She rolled her eyes. "As long as Clint doesn't shoot him, I think he'll be fine."

Fury sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Timid as he may appear, this mystery man's already managed to ingratiate himself with one of the richest men alive."

"You believe he planned that?" Natasha put in. "You're not seriously accusing him of being in league with a terrorist cell, are you? Granted, he's too cryptic by half, but he's never shown outright malice as far as I've seen. Besides, I doubt the kidnappers planned their own destruction."

"There are some things that don't add up," Fury opined. "It's possibly it's a coincidence but I seriously doubt it. Nobody wanders a hundred miles into the desert voluntarily. He must've known that Stark was out there, and went looking. It's possible that he too arranged for the illegal paperwork, though I question what he'd hope to accomplish with such an act, aside from a court order."

"Hey, wait," Barton said, and there was a brief silence. "The target just disappeared! I repeat, he just  _vanished_."

Fury sighed.

* * *

Well, Harry had to admit it, Tony's house was exactly as he'd anticipated it to be. It was huge, oddly shaped (though Harry was used to that, at least) and beautifully situated near the water, with a view that could rival anyone's since it peeked over the bluff down to the waters below. It reminded him a little of Shell Cottage, though infinitely more expensive.

Walking down the tree-lined path to the front door, he raised an eyebrow at a large flat section of concrete with a large H painted on it. It was a landing pad for helicopters, he concluded, and was mildly content that he'd known that much. A bit further along was a tennis court though it didn't seem to have been used in a while, as it was a bit unkempt. The house's gardens were huge and varied. He had serious doubts Tony ever did any gardening, though.

Finding the man had been tougher than he'd anticipated, mostly since Harry hadn't really considered the distances involved. Nearly thirty miles he'd followed the tracking charm. It was lucky he'd been able to catch a bus, or he'd still be walking. He rang the doorbell.

Listening in on his pursuers on the way here had been informative but not nearly as much as he'd hoped. He'd learned of a 'Director Fury' - he seemed about as gruff as Mad-Eye Moody had been, and hell-bent on figuring him out. He'd also learned that this organization knew little to nothing about him, at least that they were willing to admit to Barton. Judging from what Fury said, the only thing the organization even knew about had to be Apparition. That could be helpful as long as they didn't know about magic itself or all the things he could do with it, he'd always have an edge.

The door swung open suddenly and Harry blinked. A woman in a neat brown suit was looking at him with some confusion. After a moment she nodded in understanding. "You must be Harry Callahan. Come in."

Harry nodded, quickly wiping his feet as he stepped inside the building. If the outside was remarkable, the beautifully decorated interior was jaw-dropping. There were little fountains, long benches arrayed along huge curved windows, and a beautiful painting of the Los Angeles skyline and that was just in the foyer. He turned to the woman and smiled. "Just call me Harry, please."

"So," she began, smiling. "Tony didn't think you'd come."

"Figured as much," Harry mumbled, walking over to one of the gigantic windows at the far side of the house. The sea stretched out all around, distant boats bobbing lightly on the water and the setting sun shimmering across it. He turned to the woman in embarrassment as he realized he was being a terrible guest. "I'm sorry, you must be the assistant that Tony mentioned. Miss Potts?"

She nodded tightly, smiling. "Just call me Pepper." She glanced over to a glass door on the far side of the room; there was a staircase there, as well. "Tony can be a bit impulsive, so I wasn't sure if you would turn out to be an Afghan farmer he just kidnapped off the street. I wouldn't have been all that surprised, considering."

Harry shrugged, sitting down on one of the benches and taking in the view again. "He wasn't kidding about the house. It's magnificent. I wouldn't want to ever move again."

"He wants a tower. Knowing him, he'll build it himself," Pepper noted, smiling. "So tell me, Harry, how did you end up out in the middle of nowhere, so you could pick up my wayward boss? I can't imagine it's very hospitable out there."

"He used donkeys."

Harry turned. Tony strolled in, smirking. He dropped himself down on the bench next to Pepper and Harry, sighing contentedly. "It might've been small horses, I was napping at the time, so I couldn't tell you." He turned to Harry. "You actually came! I'd half expected an APB with your name on it by morning. Kudos."

"I'm still not a fugitive, Tony," Harry responded, glancing at Pepper. "Honestly."

"So defensive," Tony chided, gesturing to Pepper. "Could you get us a good drink? I don't think I can get up right now. I figured the assistant's the one that helps out the cripple, right?"

"You're not crippled, Tony."

"Close enough." He shrugged. "I already crippled the company, I think that counts."

Harry glanced at him, frowning. "What do you mean? You've barely been back a day, what did you do?"

Tony gave something between a smile and a grimace. "Remember, on my plane, I said that all my mistakes tend to be big. I went to fix one. I don't think that anyone quite expected how far I went, though. Obadiah certainly didn't." Tony turned away. "If you haven't seen the press releases yet, just turn on the television." He paused for a moment. "What I saw in Afghanistan were my own weapons, used to kill our own troops. I decided that I couldn't continue to do this." He frowned down at his chest, where the arc reactor shone softly. "This afternoon I pulled Stark Industries out of the weapons market. I think right about now all the shareholders are panicking."

Pepper returned with a bottle of wine – if Harry had to guess, very expensive - and a couple of glasses, setting them down on a little table near the two men.

"So, you'll stop making weapons?" Harry wondered, picking one up. "I thought it was a weapons company? Isn't that going to cut the legs out from under your whole enterprise?"

Tony shrugged. "I don't care what the shareholders think. A new direction's what's needed." He looked at Harry askance. "You missed Obi, I spoke to him earlier. He thought the same thing you did. That I'd ruin the company and myself by doing this."

Harry nodded. "Yet you're doing it anyway?" Harry smiled. "I know how that is, you know, when I decided to leave I had quite a bit of opposition. Those who knew argued I'd be throwing away so much that was important, so much that had been with me for my whole life, but I did it. I'm starting to come around to the opinion that I was even more right than I'd anticipated at the time. I feel alive again for the first time years."

Tony snorted. "All you had to do was pull a billionaire from the desert."

"Point is, go for it. Don't let people tell you what you ought to do with your own company. Just as you shouldn't let people decide what you ought to do with your life." He smiled sadly, and they sat in silence for a moment. "In any case, do I get a tour?"

"Oh, yes, of course." Tony got up, grabbing his glass of wine as he passed. "Well, you've already seen upstairs, so I can show you where I work, I suppose. Jarvis, light it up again."

Harry started as a new voice spoke, seemingly from everywhere. " _Yes, sir. I am detecting an electromagnetic disturbance in the house again, are you aware of this?_ "

"Yes, yes." Tony muttered, putting a hand over the arc reactor in his chest. "I'm coming down, now. Put away the sharp bits, I'm bringing a guest."

Harry quickly followed Tony. Pepper stayed behind, eyebrow raised at the two. If upstairs had looked futuristic because of the design, the level they now entered was so because every surface was covered with little bits of electronic equipment, spare tubing and wires, as well as numerous scale models of what had to be Stark Industries products.

"Jarvis, I did say lights, didn't I?"

The place lit up like a Christmas tree. Harry blinked around in astonishment as what appeared to be square illusions blinked into existence, showing all sorts of complex technical drawings that he had no clue about. Computer screens, sure, but they seemed like they were floating in mid-air. If he hadn't known it was technology…

"Holographic. It's neat, isn't it?" Tony said as he waved his hand in front of one of the screens, shoving the contents around; they actually responded to his movements, too. It reminded Harry remarkably of that time in the chamber, when Voldemort had written his name in floating letters and rearranged them at will. "I'm outfitting the whole place with them. They're all hooked into Jarvis, whom you've already heard."

" _Greetings."_

"Hello, Jarvis." Harry tried, glancing up nervously, then towards Tony.

" _Your tone suggests discomfort. I apologize,"_  Jarvis responded kindly.

"He's an A.I." Tony added to another confused look from Harry. "Artificial Intelligence. He helps out with a lot of stuff around the house so I don't have to do them all myself." He cocked his head. "Well, I actually do almost none of it myself."

"Ah, so it's like a spirit," Harry concluded. "Invisible but interacting with stuff anyway, did you design that? I didn't even know M- people were capable of something like that."

Tony gave him a weird look, but shrugged. "Well, if that's how you want to compare it, though I think that I've got things a little more down to earth than ghosts and goblins around here."

Harry didn't comment, savouring the taste of his wine as he glanced over the various images. A few were showing sketches of what appeared to be a human, though strangely bulky. He turned to Tony with a serious look. "I thank you for your hospitality, Tony, but you must have some reason you dragged me all the way out here to America. Spill."

"Can't a man just be helpful in the spirit of goodwill?"

"You?" Harry asked dryly.

Tony sighed. "Nobody ever believes me when I say I don't have an ulterior motive. I think people believe that rich people are always up to no good." He frowned. "Well, it's probably a good rule of thumb, but honestly."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm leaving soon. Not sure when yet, but I've got a few things I want to do, and I hardly think that I should stick around here just because I know you." He looked around the messy workshop. "As far as I can tell, you've got three months of unfinished work strewn around here and I don't know what even a tenth of it does. I wouldn't even know how to begin to help with any of it, even if I wanted to."

"I suppose you'd have to learn, then." Tony argued, shrugging. "Well, you can let yourself out, if you want to go. You've got your papers, make something of your life. Until you do, you can use one of the guestrooms, I suppose – I'm sure Pepper can point you to one."

" _Agent Barton, please report."_

Harry winced, bringing a hand to his head as the sharp voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts, courtesy of his listening charm.

" _The target's in the Stark residence – I have nothing new to add, yet. The security is too high to go in unnoticed. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents haven't had a chance to bug it, either."_

" _Understood. Most of the Nano-probes are still functional; they indicate the target hasn't left the building."_

Harry blinked, shuddering. Tony didn't say anything, but the bewildered look was enough. "Just a headache. It'll pass, I'm sure," he muttered as he shook his head. So, the people that were after him were from something called 'Shield'.

"Jarvis, get me some aspirin." Tony smirked at Harry. "Some for my guest, too."

* * *

Spending time at the Stark house had been a bit odd, Harry realized; Tony had no appreciable schedule outside his few official obligations, which meant he regularly worked until far into the night, or he outright skipped them entirely. The few times he'd spoken to the man at those late hours he could get little more than a dull glare out of it. Harry wondered if it was the man's alternative to sleeping. He'd been working on something new – he hadn't want to show it yet, but whatever it was incorporated the arc reactor he'd built, since he'd been tinkering with that for quite a while.

Compared to Tony, Pepper was far more sociable at most times; not too bothered by his lack of knowledge when it came to technology, she'd actually given him some pointers, though he'd largely stayed away from everything that looked delicate, given his tendency to make things explode. He'd met one other person: Tony's driver, a Mr. Hogan. The last few days Harry had gone out and explored the surrounding area, particularly the city, all the while keeping an ear out for new information from his unwitting spy.

It took the better part of a week before Barton was  _finally_  switched out for someone else. It was ideal, given that the listening charm was wearing a little thin – the voices were getting awfully reedy, in any case, but Harry could still catch some things. Apparently they were convinced he'd stay for an extended period, much as he had in Afghanistan; not a bad assumption, though honestly he'd quickly realized that there wasn't really an easy place to fly around here except over water, so he had been considering other locales for a little while.

He'd learned a few things from listening in on Barton's conversations. For one, he'd been horrified to realize that the Nano-probes that were used to track him weren't on him... they were  _in_  him. Evidently Muggles had developed such miniscule machines that they were unnoticeable. Not even his detection charms could give him more than a vague idea of where they were. The one time he'd tried the Elder Wand he'd almost fainted as all the devices simultaneously protested violently, they were distributed all throughout his body, If what he overheard was correct, over half of them were already beyond repair and would flush out of his system naturally, so it was only a matter of time before that was resolved.

Another thing he'd learned was that about the organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. that was keeping an eye on him. Some kind of secret government agency from what he could gather, specializing in the weird and unexplained alongside other, more mundane things. Harry figured that they were right in one thing. He definitely counted as such in this reality.

He'd spent the beginning of the week considering his options, whether he should try infiltrating the organization and find out what exactly they were up to, or if he should ignore them. The latter option, Harry realized, would not really work out. He was already drawing too much attention as it was, and a single glimpse by a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent of  _anything_  else magical would just get them to pay even closer attention.

That is why he found himself hovering some forty feet away from Barton, who was waiting by the door of small aircraft, he was chatting with his home base about the Nano-probes losing contact again; thankfully, he wasn't sent right back. Harry smiled from under his invisibility cloak, glad to note that his assumption about that item had been correct: between the cloak's magical nature and its alleged effects – hide anyone, even from death – he'd assumed that it would work to block the signal, but hadn't actually been able to try it easily.

Adjusting his grip on his Firebolt, Harry slipped his wand back in his pocket, grinning in anticipation as Barton stepped into his ride; Harry had already put a tracking charm on the vehicle, just in case.

"It's time to pay a little visit to Mr. Fury."


	7. Ghost

Harry had to rub his eyes and check again – then repeat that. Yes, his eyes were working properly, and he was definitely seeing this. He'd been travelling for quite a long time; he had no real clue on how long precisely, as he'd simply been tailing Barton's aircraft. He'd been going as fast as his Firebolt would allow, and even with that he frequently lost sight of the plane, only to catch up with it a little while later. He'd pushed it to its limit, the wood groaning under the stress. Still he'd managed to keep up. Then this came into view – he'd had to stop and gawk.

He recognized the shape: it was huge and flat with long lines drawn across it, clear markings for take-off and landing. A tall central control tower looked out over the deck with a great array of windows behind which he could vaguely see people; they were typing on computers fairly reminiscent of Tony's, with brightly lit screens. He knew what this machine was; a fully-fledged aircraft carrier, probably the largest ship there was.

It was also flying.

"Merlin's beard, Muggles are geniuses," Harry muttered, circling the gigantic floating fortress lazily, looking at the technological wonder with reverence. Barton's little plane went for a landing, angling slowly towards the deck as it descended, though Harry had already forgotten all about him in favour of this new miracle. He'd seen quite a bit of what Muggles could do, lately – especially in Tony's house – but nothing that suggested something like this had been done, or was even  _possible_. Muggles had achieved this without even the benefit of magic. It was absolutely amazing. He knew for sure that Arthur Weasley would faint at the sight of this: Muggles making magic.

Harry landed softly on the highest part of the behemoth's tower, glancing at the four huge propellers that were what apparently kept this thing aloft – monstrously huge and sucking in great gusts of air, getting caught in those probably meant a very swift and very tumultuous death. Several planes were arrayed along the perimeter of the carrier; they were boxy and cumbersome-looking, but Harry had no idea if that meant anything. On the hind-side of the deck stood a large helicopter, its twin blades rotating slowly.

When he'd heard about home base from Barton's communications, Harry had expected a large government skyscraper, possibly a shady office building with creepy people in suits. Admittedly, his only exposure to Muggle government agents was from old movies - and the last time he'd seen those was back at the Dursleys. As an Auror, the few times he'd been involved with Muggles at all, they'd just been regular old police.

" _Thanks - ride,"_  Barton commented and Harry glanced back as the man stalked across the deck of the carrier. The listening charm had been helpful – it'd gotten him here – but between the age of the spell and the fact that he'd been trailing well behind the plane for the longest time and only caught up at the end, it'd started to stutter – soon it would be gone entirely. Most spells cast on the fly like that wouldn't last indefinitely: for one, they relied on the caster's magic to stay active, which meant that distance reduced the lifespan of its effect and death would outright cancel it. Charms that needed to keep going after you were gone, perhaps indefinitely – now those were the tricky ones, and they were barely covered at Hogwarts.

Finding a more permanent solution to keeping an eye on his pursuers than just a listening charm was a primary concern; he could perhaps put the charm on an object or two as that would keep the spell going for an extended period, but he'd have to get fairly close and have a minute or two to work with. He really only had two options now on his course of action: either he'd have to get S.H.I.E.L.D. off his scent, which seemed impossible given the scale of this organization, or he'd need to keep updated on anything they tried before they tried it. Spying on the spies.

Dropping down to the deck of the carrier, Harry drew his wand and used a silencing spell on himself; it would prevent him from speaking, but it would also eliminate other sounds, which should make sneaking about a lot easier (he idly wished he'd had known about such uses for spells in Hogwarts.) It was a tactic he'd used frequently when he was an Auror to avoid people spotting him by sound alone; his cloak could hide many things, but sound wasn't one of them.

Trying the spell out by kicking the floor a few times and breathing loudly, he nodded in satisfaction and quickly stuffed his broom away in his pouch, lodging it between his other broom and a Skiving Snack-box he'd snagged on his last day, for old time's sake. He was still amazed at the capacity of his little pouch – it could hold far more than the one that he, Hermione and Ron had used when hunting the Horcruxes and was spelled to be impervious to summoning spells, though Harry supposed that particular trait wouldn't be very useful here. He was somewhat amazed half the things in there could even fit through the opening.

There were many guards on the deck, Harry realized as he looked around more carefully – dozens of uniformed people with a symbol reminiscent of a bird on their breast pocket, most of them wielding weapons that looked quite intimidating. The large guns would probably be quite effective at stopping anyone - thankfully, blocking solid objects was quite manageable with judicious use of protection spells.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered finally, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself as he fell in lockstep with one of the guards heading for what appeared to be the entrance to the tower.

S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't actually shown outright hostility, Harry had to concede. He didn't know exactly what they were up to, but thus far they'd done little more than make themselves a nuisance, poking their nose into his business. Director Fury, who he'd briefly heard several times throughout the week, had been illuminating in that regard: he sounded paranoid. Harry could understand that, he supposed – during the war the Wizarding World had resorted to passphrases to try and recognize each other, and Mad-Eye in particular was a shining example of what an excess of that could do to someone.

Slipping into the ship behind the guard was easy; the man showed some kind of card to a machine and was waved through, and Harry simply darted past him as the door opened. He quickly turned the corner and pressed himself against the wall to allow the other to pass before he looked around. He found himself in a very long, well-lit hallway that was patrolled by what had to be a dozen guards in full military outfits, all of them armed, of course – and he just barely caught a glimpse of Barton standing about forty feet away down the hall, speaking to a man in a neat suit.

"… _where – Natasha – speak to her."_

Harry perked up, smiling despite himself. She was here then; perhaps he would pay Natasha a visit. Right now, though – he needed information. He'd considered confronting Fury – admittedly it was alluring – but he was well aware that as trigger-happy as everyone here was, they'd likely shoot first, ask questions later. Even if he wasn't killed by the Muggle weapons, he'd still pretty much cut out the legs from under any future cease-fire with S.H.I.E.L.D. What he needed was information on what the organization intended to do to him and blackmail material, if he could find it.

Harry headed in the opposite direction of Barton, ascending a long set of stairs quickly, as there was nobody using them at that moment. He slipped back into a role he hadn't played in years, casting  _Homenum Revelio_  and smirking as the vague blobs that represented people wavered into existence. The last time he'd had an infiltration-related job like this was his sixth year as an Auror, when he'd been sent after a small coven of vampires that'd been gathering prey. He'd been spelled top to bottom with scent neutralisation spells since the buggers would notice even the blood in one's veins if not properly protected, and he'd been quite terrified that his little ruse wouldn't work. Compared to  _that_ , this was easy.

The inside of the ship reminded Harry eerily of Hogwarts after a while, despite the different aesthetic: hundreds of corridors branching in every direction, a vast number of rooms alongside narrow little hallways with strange corners. The only thing that was missing was talking paintings and a ghost or two, though Harry supposed he just about counted as one, right now.

The first few rooms he came to were not interesting – supply rooms, unused conference rooms, an armoury – but he nodded in satisfaction as the next he passed one floor up was a research laboratory of some kind – far closer to what he was looking for. Glancing towards each room, he quickly realized that there were a  _lot_  of people working for this organization; some of the computer-filled rooms contained upwards of two dozen people tapping away at their keyboards. In fact, looking around there was a veritable sea of vague blobs of colour courtesy of his charm, more than he could distinguish, in any case. He blinked as he realized that one group of such blobs was heading right for him.

The group he'd noticed approached through the hallway he was currently in, walking at a measured pace with several large weapons on their back or held in their arms. Harry raised his wand, though nobody spared him a glance, instead conversing with each other animatedly.

"Uruguay? I don't even know where that is," the lone dark-skinned man commented softly, scratching his head as he tapped on a small device. "How far is it, you figure?"

"Isn't it some country in Africa?" Another piped up, leaning forward. "Has to be, right?"

A tall man with short auburn hair sighed, shaking his head in dismay. "Seriously? It's in South-America. We've even been there before. How bad are your memories, anyway? Too many people bashing you in the head?"

"I hunt, I don't teach geology," the second man muttered, rolling his eyes.

"You mean  _geography._ Every time you open your mouth, you manage to make yourself sound dumber," the tall man prodded the bald second in the forehead. "I figure it's like that comedian said: think about how dumb the average person is – then realize half are dumber than that. You're bound to be in that half."

Harry backed himself against the wall, wand ready – thankfully the group simply marched past his position. They exchanged a mix of insults and veiled suggestive comments while one or two remained silent and simply sent withering glances over their shoulders to the rest of them.

"So, this doctor guy – any details?"

"A few," the dark-skinned man said, looking around as he flipped through his folder before talking softly. Harry couldn't help but listen in, curious. "Henry Pym and assistant Janet Dine – Dyne? There's a squiggle in the middle, which might be a word too. Regardless, they dropped off the radar a short while ago, and the first response team couldn't find a trace. Considering where they are and what they were after – classified, what a surprise– it's probably going to be a shoot-out with some local bastards that kidnapped 'em. That's why they sent us."

"Glad I packed this baby, then," one of the others said, tapping his oversized weapon lovingly.

Harry shook his head, backing away. Of course S.H.I.E.L.D. was keeping track of more people than just him; the disturbing part was that they'd send a heavily armed team after you if you vanished. Though a chill ran down his back at the thought, Harry couldn't help some grim amusement as he imagined a small platoon marching down Tony's lawn, upon which the billionaire would casually ask them to please wipe their feet and not touch any of the valuables.

Shaking his head Harry continued down the hallway and up another set of stairs – he was getting quite close to the command deck now, if he estimated correctly, and trying to worm his way past all the people would probably not end well. Time to get a little more creative than just invisibility, then.

* * *

"If these things break all the time, what's the point?" Fury said in annoyance as he looked over the latest report he'd been handed. He put the tablet down, frowning. "Our attempts to track on foot are simply failing, given how often Harry evaded Barton - alternative solutions aren't working much better. He's making a mockery out of us." A fist met his desk and Triers winced.

"Sir – you must be aware that we've had this situation before. We needed new containment units for Banner, this isn't any different, I'd think."

"I don't like that comparison," Fury grumbled, staring at his tablet. "Banner's a ticking time-bomb. I would prefer it this one didn't turn out to be unstable and started killing people one day." He shook his head and scowled. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s getting more and more to do, if you've noticed. We're becoming more relevant – a worrying thought."

Triers nodded, picking up the pad. "What do you want me to do, without the signal, Director? We can't get someone onto the premises without Stark getting an immediate alert." He shook his head. "I think unless you're on the guest list, one wouldn't get two steps in without police arriving to take you out again."

"Stark – another problematic issue," Fury said, scowling. "The fake papers for Harry – the techies say it's inconclusive, but between the fact that he is very well-versed in computers technology  _and_  thinks the world of himself, Stark's looking to be the best bet as the culprit."

"Orders regarding that, sir?"

Fury sighed. "Honestly – having Harry close at hand and traceable via his fake papers showing up is preferable to what we've had so far. Compared to what he could do, document fraud is the least of our problems."

"Yes, sir."

Fury rubbed his brow tiredly; the last few days the addition of yet another high profile superhuman on American soil had taken its toll, particularly since this latest one was more slippery than a buttered-up eel. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mandate was to deal with these kinds of issues decisively, but he'd been going back and forth on what that decision should be.

On the one hand, the man was aggravating him by constantly getting away from his pursuers with ridiculous ease and seemingly little care. On the other hand – the descriptions of his activities he'd heard from Agent Romanoff and the reports from those months in Afghanistan didn't betray a particularly nasty disposition -if anything, it betrayed a mild-mannered one. Yes, Harry was a superhuman – metahuman, as some scientists insisted calling them in their reports – but thus far he didn't appear to be like the others currently active: unstable or insane.

"Director Fury?" said a low voice. Fury glanced up, tapping a button to respond. "Speak."

"Confirmation that the planned briefing will start in ten minutes, sir," said the digital voice. A model of a large rectangular conference room with a huge table in the middle appeared on his screen. "Agent Barton just reported in and all other relevant personnel have already checked in at the meeting room. Quartermain's retrieval team's left a short while ago; they will have to be briefed separately."

Fury nodded. "Understood."

* * *

"My glasses!"

"You dropped this, sir."

"My pants!"

Harry smirked as he made his way through yet another hallway, leaving several mildly confused and annoyed S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives in his wake: a few minor jinxes were sufficient to cause a distraction and the guards were very quick. They'd rush over and Harry effortlessly passed the position they'd just been occupying. Passing three more doors he came to a huge hallway – certainly larger than any he'd been in - leading towards a very brightly lit room, a room with windows on every side and multiple levels with dozens of desks spread around. He'd seen it before from the outside – the bridge.

It took him only a few moments to identify who had to be the leader around here – the stiff walk, sharp glare and authoritative stance were unmistakable, and when he spoke he recognized the voice. For a moment, he could only stare. He was dark-skinned, bald, dressed all in black and over his left eye was a patch. The only thing missing was a parrot, Harry figured, and he'd looked like the world's greatest pirate. Also – the man was coming straight for him.

Harry stepped back, taking in the confident stride of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director and his grim expression as he approached, a wiry man following him with some hesitance. Much like the others he marched right past him, heading down the large hall – for a moment Harry had the irrational thought that Fury was hiding a fake eye like Mad-Eye's under that patch. With a shake of the head he followed the two men, pondering on how he was going to keep a close eye on what was going on in a huge organization like this.

They passed more guards than Harry could count – thankfully Fury parted them out of the way easily enough, and Harry simply walked along. Finally they turned into a large room; there was a sizable table in the middle, though only half a dozen seats were taken. Harry quickly walked to the side, smiling as he noticed some of the people present.

Clint Barton, his spy for the past week, was there: he looked bored, glancing occasionally at his neighbour – another familiar face. Natasha leaned casually on the table, tapping it idly. The others Harry didn't know, though they all seemed to be self-important, as some were wearing medals while others were sitting so straight it looked painful.

Harry smiled as he thought back on those first weeks in Afghanistan - even if the country was screwed up and Natasha was a spy, they'd been the first good times he'd had in quite a while - and it was mostly because despite it all, she'd actually seemed to genuinely listen to what he had to say; his carefully edited but nevertheless quite truthful tales had always had her asking questions afterwards and he'd enjoyed the simplicity of things. He wondered idly if he could get her alone sometime to just speak with her for a bit - he'd missed that. Tony was certainly no substitute, snarky as he usually was. Of course, with Barton around, his chances of catching her alone were like those of a blind seeker trying to catch a snitch.

Fury closed the door sharply - the moment it closed there was a hiss, and he nodded. For a few moments the lights went dim – Harry blinked at the sudden darkness – then they were back. "The room's been sealed. From now until the room is opened, everything said here is considered private and highly classified. Each of you is aware of the consequences, should you fail to meet this standard." He tapped a pistol strapped to his leg, nodding to his assistant who quickly took a seat. Harry himself leaned against the wall, looking on curiously. "All currently present are either working on a project that will be mentioned, or will soon be doing so. Please pay close attention to each issue, especially the ones that you have not been previously aware of."

Harry made himself somewhat comfortable, wondering idly if he could do something dramatic – if he were capable of it, he might've tried to obliviate the entire room, but he was certain that computers would retain all their information, and the sudden unknowns popping up in their system would probably make things even worse.

"As of this morning, we have once more determined the location of Dr. Banner, whom you all know of," Fury began, and here was a brief mutter, though a stern glare shut them up quickly. "He was discovered living in a small community just south of the U.S. border, and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have currently been ordered to keep their distance, since infiltration is highly unlikely – Banner likely knows every face in town. We have elected to keep this development under wraps from other authorities for numerous reasons, the most notable being that certain elements in the regular military have expressed an unusually focused interest, and we have reason to believe that Dr. Banner is not quite as unique in the world as we'd like to believe. A report detailing all that's currently known is in front of you." Screens turned on before each person around the table.

"Do we have a plan in dealing with this?"

Fury turned to the stately man in a long off-white lab coat. "We will maintain the presence of a long-distance observer – we do not currently have the technology to safely contain Dr. Banner's more, shall we say, destructive tendencies, and the last reported incident has been some time ago." He frowned, tapping his screen. "Secondly, there is this."

Briefly a holographic image appeared – Harry recognized it from Tony's house – it appeared to be a blue cube of some sort. Shimmering oddly, Harry wondered if it was some kind of magical artefact – it certainly didn't look Muggle.

"We have received reports that the people currently involved in the research of the Cube have narrowed down their field of study to 20% of its original size, and are beginning more in-depth probing. We should have more information on its qualities within the next one or two years, though when and if anything is known, we will be the first to know." He tapped the screen again, and Harry started as his own face appeared on every screen – a photograph from Afghanistan.

"The newest topic that's risen to the top, and that not all know about yet, is this man. He is a newly confirmed person with abilities far beyond normal humans." He tapped a few buttons and more pictures appeared. Harry leaned in, intrigued. "On the Eighteenth of May this year, this individual became known to us after being spotted on a CCTV camera in Scotland. Though initially believed to be a hoax, the video in question appeared to show a most convincing display of what our technological advisors are considering 'teleportation', or the ability to transfer from one place to another without traversing the intervening space. There are several other hypotheses, but this one is most plausible."

"Teleportation is plausible?" one of the agents on the far side of the table asked sceptically, immediately shutting up as Fury glared in his direction.

"You've seen Banner, and you doubt this?" his neighbour commented. "You seriously need a reality check."

Fury tapped his tablet's screen once more, returning to his pacing. "As unbelievable as it may sound – yes. Agent Barton?"

"I've been following for the past week – he's fast, and he seems to always find the nooks and crannies to duck away in; the moment I turn the corner he's gone, and it takes me a call back here to figure out that he's ten miles away already." He shook his head. "There's no way that's normal."

"Normal or not - the person in question boarded a flight to Afghanistan sometime after the events in Scotland; there is video footage of his departure and arrival, though there is no physical or electronic evidence of his passage otherwise – he bypassed all regulations in place, likely with the help of a third party."

Harry winced – getting caught on camera was bad enough, but getting caught swindling Muggles? No wonder they were paranoid about him – he'd have been too. At least he was glad that they hadn't figured out the magic angle of things, that would send them down a rabbit hole that hopefully nobody in this world cared terribly much for, right now. He frowned at that thought – if there was any magic at all in this world, would he count as the sole wizard attempting to keep the Statute of Secrecy intact? Or was there simply no magic at all, aside from his own? Thinking back to the arc reactor that Tony built, Harry wasn't so sure.

"Agent Romanoff made contact with this person, who self-identifies as Harry. Little information was gained during the following three months that S.H.I.E.L.D. observed him, beyond an unusually acute awareness of his being watched – and his lack of action in response."

Natasha spoke up. "He was quite friendly, but he wouldn't say much and I did get the idea he was simply humouring me with what he did tell. At the time, I believed he had simply not seen through my ruse, but I have come to reconsider that opinion. He did not come across as hostile. In fact, I would argue he still does not."

Fury nodded. "Things changed at the end of the third month, when - and you have seen this on the news – Harry rescued the life of Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, who had been kidnapped by a terrorist group in the area. It appears he retrieved the man from the desert, where he was wandering after escaping from his captors." An image came up of Tony, looking tired and dirty, alongside Harry himself. "Mr. Stark and Harry shared a plane all the way to Los Angeles in the subsequent days, and have been on American soil for a week now. Attempts to track our target have been... moderately unsuccessful."

"Great,  _another_  Banner," one lanky man muttered.

"Some here will be reassigned to full-time duty on this issue. Harry has been aware of our presence for some time, but has not acted on it that we are aware of. He is, however, quite capable of taking out any of his observers at will." Fury shook his head. "Since the Banner situation seems to be stable for the moment, there will be some changes. Stern, Wilson and Tyler will be moved to the task force pursuing further options for keeping track of the new player, while Agents Romanoff and Barton will function as back-up when necessary. I want options, in case this gets ugly."

Harry frowned at that – it wouldn't do to have this organization so jumpy they'd actually try and shoot him one day. It seemed that S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't planning to do anything too heinous to him, a comforting thought – but they were still tracking him and perhaps finding out more about magic without his knowledge: not a good thing. He wondered if they'd think differently about his priority if they were aware he was in their midst. Probably. He smirked at the thought of appearing in the middle of the sealed room with a chiding gesture towards Fury for the Nano-probes.

The group talked on for some time still; nothing particularly interesting that Harry could tell, mostly dealing with the technicalities of transfers; it turned out that every other person in the room would be available to the others when necessary, without having to be brought up to speed and most didn't frequently leave the Helicarrier. Harry focused instead on what he came here to do, to seek a more permanent solution for keeping track of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s activity. His listening charm on Barton had all but unravelled, now. He'd already placed a listening charm on the table, though thankfully he could dampen the sound to prevent the awful echo that came with it.

Finally, nearly twenty minutes later, the meeting was closed and the door slid open after a loud click and a brief flicker of the light. Harry sent a last glance towards Natasha as he quickly shadowed Fury, who was the first to leave; it seemed with all these people around he wouldn't get a chance to greet her – though honestly that was probably a bad idea in any case. Fury headed straight for another sizable room with a large desk and a large computer – Harry figured it was the man's office. The door closed behind and Fury dropped into his chair and sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Now – what to do? Harry considered simply appearing before the man to speak to him, but if he was half as quick with that gun as he was with his reprimands, he'd have six holes in him before he could finish a sentence. Letting S.H.I.E.L.D. know that screwing around with him was a bad idea – he'd have to get that across, or they'd just keep chasing after him pointlessly. Perhaps he'd set up a meeting with Fury himself, one where he wasn't liable to get shot.

Harry moved to the opposite end of the room as a second person entered – a squat woman with red hair that bore a vague resemblance to Mrs. Weasley, though with far harsher lines on her face. Harry fished a piece of parchment from his pouch, thankful he'd remembered to put a Silencing Spell on himself, and quickly scribbled down a message for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s leader, glancing up at him a few times. In a pocket on the side of Fury's all-black attire was the mobile phone (or was it a computer?) that he'd used in the meeting. Yes, one good Switching Spell would do it. He imagined Hermione demonstrating it again, rehearsing the movements.

Another thought occurred to him as he studied the man across the desk. A very devious thought. He'd just found the perfect place to put his listening charm to catch all the interesting things. Smiling wickedly, he raised his wand.

* * *

"Director Fury?"

Fury glanced up, scowling, distractedly rubbing his eye-patch – it'd been tingly against his skin for the last half hour. Triers stood before him, eyebrow raised. "What is it?"

"I have been sending you messages for ten minutes, sir," he said carefully. "There was no confirmation of receiving any of them."

Fury sighed, grasping for his phone – it wasn't there. He blinked, checking his other pockets. "I could've sworn…" He checked the first pocket once more, grabbing something unfamiliar: odd, coarse paper. Pulling it out with a frown, he unfolded the little note.

_Those drones were a nice touch._  
I'd appreciate it if you approached me personally on matters of dispute, though.  
It's more civil.  
You know where to find me.

_Harry._

_P.S. Constant Vigilance._


	8. Repercussions

"Sir? What is it?"

Fury stared at the piece of paper in his hand for a minute that felt like an hour – he clenched his fists without really being aware of it as he narrowed his eye dangerously. When he finally looked up, Triers stepped back involuntarily at his dangerous expression. He gritted his teeth. "Get me every damn person on this vessel that has clearance on knowing about Harry. NOW."

As Triers left, Fury considered the message. Somewhere within the last half hour his phone had been stolen – stolen from right on his person – and switched out for  _this._ There were only two possible ways this could've happened, both of which were enormously disturbing. One: Harry had managed to contact a spy on-board that was responsible for delivering the message, which meant a fatal flaw in S.H.I.E.L.D. security and a traitor - or Two: Harry had managed to come on board the Helicarrier himself and somehow personally delivered it, which was perhaps an even greater breach.

Fury strode over to his computer and looked at the pictures there for a little while – one depicted Harry looking relaxed as he leaned against a building somewhere in Afghanistan, a bored look on his face. He turned back to the note, barely capable of keeping his cool.

_Those drones were a nice touch._

The bastard knew. Acting completely oblivious, their target had evidently figured out the Nano-probes and performed counter-measures; that had to be why they were dropping like flies. Likely he'd intentionally been teleporting around to get them off him, or had them outright disabled. Fury growled under his breath. He  _could_  have been on the Helicarrier, then – undetected.  
 __  
I'd appreciate it if you approached me personally on matters of dispute, though. It's more civil.  
  
He wasn't nearly stupid enough to consider talking face-to-face with a possible enemy – not to mention a super powerful one – and certainly not from someone who'd just gone through the most egregiously offensive ways of delivering the message. Breaking into the Helicarrier to deliver a message like this wasn't sensible. He might as well have given the note to Barton if that had been the only goal, as Harry doubtlessly had been aware of the man. No – if the teleporter had been here, it'd been with ulterior motives; spying on S.H.I.E.L.D. or to make a demonstration of power.

_You know where to find me._   
_Harry._   
_P.s. Constant Vigilance._

There was no worry or fear expressed– no care at all of what he might do. Harry had to be aware that S.H.I.E.L.D. could track him: as long as the Nano-probes occasionally made contact, Fury would have a pretty good general idea of his location, and him showing up near Tony Stark's house would hardly go without notice. Yet - the man didn't seem bothered by the concept at all, as if he knew that he was beyond their ability to catch.

Then there was the implied threat - the message rang loud and clear. It might as well have read: 'If I can get this note into your pocket, I can do other, nastier things at any time.'

Fury smashed his fist onto his desk and it groaned under the stress.

* * *

Harry sat high on the top of the Helicarrier's tower, legs crossed as he enjoyed the grand view – the air was slightly thinner than he was used to, probably due to the altitude, but the scent of the sea from far below could still be detected, alongside the far closer mixture of burned jet fuel and a tinge of burning rubber. He could hear the distant heartbeats of the many people who went about their business, as well as the whine of the engines, and he could see with crystal clarity how the vessel glided slowly through the air. He sighed as he cancelled his Supersensory Charm; suddenly things were quiet again, the only scent a vague unidentifiable blend of questionable odours and his eyes in need of their glasses. It was unfortunate that there were no more permanent solution to increasing eyesight, Harry mused idly, as he enjoyed having such a clear view of things.

He'd intended to just leave, after he delivered his note and placed his charms – to fly back towards the mainland until he could apparate the rest of the way and crash at Tony's again. It'd taken him a bit longer to realize that that was currently a  _very_ bad idea – he'd get Tony and Pepper involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. more so than they already were by associating with him. Harry wasn't stupid – he knew Fury would probably not take his request lying down. Judging from the harsh words that filtered through his listening charm, it wasn't quite going as he'd planned in any case. He winced at a particularly loud curse.

His choice of where to place the listening charm had been brilliant, Harry thought in amusement. There was one thing that Fury would doubtlessly keep on his person all the time, and it was in a very useful position for sitting in on what S.H.I.E.L.D. was planning. He'd enchanted Director Fury's eye patch.

_"I don't care if they're currently working or lying half-clothed in an alley, get them here!"_

Harry rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment as Fury became increasingly angrier and louder while he occasionally muttered things so low even Harry couldn't catch them. He finally turned down the listening charm until it was no more than a soft murmur, barely understandable. True, he'd wanted to get Fury's attention – but this was a bit much.

Regardless of the wisdom of his choice in retrospect, sneaking in and out of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base had been a surprisingly nostalgic experience. It reminded Harry quite a bit of those other times he'd been infiltrating, even if Muggles hadn't been involved. Indeed, thinking back on his active years as an Auror he smiled weakly – those had been the better years.

Getting into the Auror program straight out of Hogwarts, Ron and he had gotten involved in short order, rolling through the usual requirements quickly, and even the practical exams had been doable enough between the two of them, though they'd frequently gotten Hermione in on it as well to study more obscure spells. It'd been a wonderful time, in which being Harry Potter was quite manageable and he could get away with a lot just because he finally defeated Voldemort. It wouldn't last, of course, but the memories remained, and they were enjoyable.

Ginny – Ginny hadn't been the beginning of the end, but she'd been the catalyst. He supposed that Ron and Hermione had long suspected something; they'd certainly invited him over a lot and spent quite a bit of free time around him. In the end it had perhaps only delayed the inevitable fall. His choice to leave the active Aurors in favour of a far less out-going profession had been the direct result: his voluntary isolation not far behind.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head as memories of those last days back home returned to him – the tear-streaked face of Hermione, Ron looking like he'd just swallowed half a bottle of fire-whiskey in one go, even George's storming out, no trace of a smile to be found. He knew they'd accepted, but he doubted they'd really ever forgive him for his selfish choice. Still – he was allowed a selfish choice for once in his life, wasn't he?

Then there were the other memories. Fred had been less than enthusiastic; not like his twin, but it had been close. Sirius hadn't said anything, just stared. He'd anticipated their rejection, and they probably disapproved. Still – friends let friends make stupid choices.

Harry stood up. Thinking about the past wasn't going to help his current predicament, and if he was going to have any semblance of a normal life, he'd have to deal with it. Of course, he'd already realized that a 'normal' life was a fool's hope for someone like him. It was like ordering a bird to have a terrestrial life. Throw him off a cliff, and he'll still open his wings, even if he loathes the things.

Harry listened in on Fury again – the man was quite mad and spitting orders to what had to be a dozen different people who responded nervously to each statement; he recognized a few of the voices from earlier.

_"Mr. Miles - get Agents Barton and Romanoff."_

_"Yes, sir – do we have a way of tracking him?"_

_"We're locking this place down and if that guy shows up again, we'll take him out, understood?"_

Harry didn't hear an answer – he imagined 'Miles' had nodded. He rubbed his face tiredly, realizing that he'd been completely mistaken in his expectations of what S.H.I.E.L.D. might do; it seemed that Fury had actually taken his note as a challenge rather than an honest invitation. That would make things more difficult than they really should've been in the first place.

He really wished he could ask someone for advice, right about now. Unfortunately, he didn't have anyone that even had an inkling about any of this.

* * *

"Clint, talk to me," Natasha said softly, glancing at her neighbour. "Do you know what this is all about?"

"I know as much as you," Clint answered finally, shrugging. "Something must've come up – I think we should just wait and see."

Natasha wanted to ask another question but quickly closed her mouth as the door slid open and Director Fury stalked in, face blank. He stopped in front of the gathered group, staring for a few moments with narrowed eyes.

"At a quarter past four this afternoon – approximately eighteen minutes ago – I became aware of a major security breach on board the Helicarrier," Fury began. "It is, in fact, the largest security breach in several years, as it involved the removal of classified material from the premises."

"Did anyone claim the attack?"

Fury nodded at the short, squat man that had asked the question. "The infiltration and successful theft have been claimed by Harry, the unknown we have been tracing over the last months – this is why you are all here. Only this group had both access and knowledge about relevant information. Evidently Harry is no longer interested in leaving matters be and has chosen to directly go after S.H.I.E.L.D. It seems like it might be a show of power." Fury turned to his chair and dropped into it. "A top level security breach cannot be tolerated – data regarding several programs and people has been stolen, and attempts to remotely disable the media device upon which they are stored have had no effect."

"How did our security network get compromised?" A lanky man with greying hair wondered, adjusting his glasses. "Infrared sensors have been on the entire day – should they not have been tripped by an unknown?"

"One of the most likely scenarios is an internal leak – which means that someone in this room may be responsible for the breach. I must insist that everyone consent to having their person and quarters searched for the missing items or communications with persons on the outside." He looked dispassionately over the group. "If someone here is responsible, they will be court-martialled, and prison is the likeliest location you would end up. Confessing would help decrease your sentence."

Nobody spoke – Natasha raised an eyebrow to Barton and he shrugged.  
"Very well. Security throughout the Helicarrier will be going up and the upper decks in particular need to be checked more often – in the event that no S.H.I.E.L.D. traitor was involved, our cameras and sensors clearly weren't up to the job, as the culprit got in and out without our knowledge."

Natasha turned to Barton with a scowl. "I don't believe a word of this. Harry just decided to up and steal from the Helicarrier one day? How would he even be aware of its existence? I think caution just turned into paranoia."

"Your – 'friend' is able to teleport," Clint pointed out with a whisper. "He certainly didn't tell you about that particular gift, did he? The Director was expecting something like this theft, as he's been on edge for a while; clearly this Harry of yours is a little less innocent and carefree than one might be led to believe. I'm not all that surprised."

Natasha sighed, not speaking for a little while as she listened with half an ear to the director giving orders to the techies. "If it _is_ Harry, he must've finally gotten tired of S.H.I.E.L.D. following him around, and decided to take action. I would guess it was something you did."

"Me?" Barton looked positively affronted by the idea.

"You were the last one to follow him, weren't you? Perhaps you annoyed the guy." She shook her head and smiled before she frowned and glanced at the Director. "I hope Fury realizes what a mess this could become if it's not treated properly, though. Friendly or not, anyone would lash out if someone tried to put a leash around their neck – and I think that Harry could do a lot more damage than we appreciate, especially if he actually managed to sneak into the heart of this base."

Barton scoffed. "This Harry is bound to be capable, but not  _that_ much. S.H.I.E.L.D. already got him once with the Nano-probes; if those had been designed to knock out instead of root around and spy, this situation would never even have come up." He sighed wearily. "You only spent a few weeks near the guy, hanging out in bars for expatriates, talking about nonsense. You never did see him cornered, did you? He never did tell you any of his secrets, either. Even the kindest of people might turn out to be a monster underneath."

"So melodramatic," Natasha muttered – she didn't know what to think about this new development. With S.H.I.E.L.D. actively hunting Harry, it was likely sooner than later that they'd meet again and probably from different sides of a cell's walls. Though she knew she should be impartial, trying to mesh this idea of Harry as a criminal with the one she'd met in Afghanistan and spent so much time with was difficult. She prided herself in her understanding of people – in the ability to manipulate them to her ends – and yet here she wondered if she'd been hoodwinked. Had Harry simply shown her the benign, slightly dopy side, and kept his claws hidden?

Natasha was still considering the issue when the meeting ended – Fury's hard stare and sharp nod confused her for a moment as she walked out. She and Barton hadn't even been addressed. Suddenly her phone beeped and she quickly flipped it open – her eyebrows rose as she read the message. Turning to him she shrugged. "Here I thought he was paranoid  _before_. Secret orders, seriously?"

"We're to leave tonight," Barton said, stuffing away his phone. "He must have quite a bit of faith in us, to entrust us with something like this."

Natasha nodded, reading over her mission objective at the end of the message, alongside the three people that'd be going with her. She wasn't surprised, but she did feel uncomfortable about it.  
 _  
'Capture and retrieve Harry.'_

* * *

Fury's phone was an odd little machine – Harry tapped the buttons to see if he could get anything to appear, but he constantly got the same annoying windows to pop up. It was a bit of a surprise that it even worked, Harry supposed. He'd not actually intended to steal it, standing there in Fury's office with the bald man unaware of his presence. A simple Switching Spell to deliver his note without startling the S.H.I.E.L.D. leader or throwing off the cloak – that'd been his plan. He'd not thought about what to do with the phone – let alone realized that it might actually still work after the magical treatment of the delicate object.

He didn't know what he was doing – he'd used a mobile phone before, but it'd been way less sophisticated than this one, and by the time he'd gotten the hang of sending a message it'd made an unfortunate blazing exit. This one – there were little pictures and lists of options and a long, long list of people that were apparently on Fury's frequent call list: tapping different buttons just seemed to make things more confusing, as everything shifted around and new buttons popped into existence.

"Where's a Muggle when you need one," Harry muttered as he fiddled with the keys. "Maybe I should've paid attention to what Dudley was doing all the time…"

Trying to use Director Fury's phone had been a spontaneous thought – Harry had been considering going back into the Helicarrier to find what he needed, but with the increased guards that Fury had announced, he wasn't sure if he could get away with just pranks again. He would rather avoid getting into a fire-fight, too. It was bad enough that the people here had figured out about his apparating without them knowing about the rest, too.

"Ah!" he exclaimed as a lengthy list of recognizable words popped onto the screen – most he couldn't identify, but the presence of 'S.H.I.E.L.D.' was promising. Several other names were also in all capital letters: A.I.M. and HYDRA in particular. Just above the latter he found his own name, and he gingerly tapped the screen, hoping that would work; familiar photographs popped up, showing his own face. They were the same pictures that Fury had shown at the meeting Harry had been spying on, including the Afghanistan pictures – even a fun one that also had Natasha in it which he actually wouldn't mind keeping. After a few lines of text containing a last known location and physical details, the phone just refused to continue: it made a decidedly nasty sizzling sound and a vague whiff of burning plastic almost made him drop it.

Trying to go back to the large list – thankfully it actually worked – the phone briefly flickered again, and Harry nervously kept it as far from the cloak as he could manage, awkwardly holding it by the top: it was still Muggle technology, which meant it probably wouldn't survive for very long after being exposed to such magical items as the Invisibility Cloak (casting spells directly on it would probably make it explode, Harry thought tiredly. It wouldn't be the first time.)

Near the top of the list was another name that had caught his interest – another name of someone that S.H.I.E.L.D. was tracking – ' _Banner'_.

Banner. Another person followed by the same organization, listed in one breath with himself and with decidedly similar entries on Fury's phone: someone in the same predicament as him and evidently capable of keeping away for years at a time – perhaps someone worth speaking to. The majority of his photograph were blurry or downright distorted (on one he looked positively green) and most weren't even accessible – but there was something useful there. A last known location. Harry smirked as he grabbed his broom, diving off the edge of the flying aircraft carrier with a graceful leap, his cloak flapping around him wildly.

* * *

Fury stepped into the labs with a quick gait – several scientists glanced up and stared for a few moments as he stopped between them, and they leaned backwards from their computers and large spectrograph.

"Gentlemen – your help is needed on a serious issue," Fury started as a number of other researchers entered from the neighbouring room. "I require you to develop something that is capable of interrupting or preventing a process recently discovered – either biological or technological in origin – that allows for teleportation."

"Teleportation? We don't have that kind of capability," one of the elder scientists noted, frowning. "Even the crudest form of such technology is in its infancy."

"Nevertheless," Fury stated, raising an eyebrow at the man. "You are aware that there are other nations in this world, other organizations – advances can be made that may seem staggering, if we don't pay attention. In this case, we have a clue – the person capable of accomplishing this unbelievable feat has been infected with Nano-probes, Though they're currently almost all gone, they have been transmitting data on the subject's body state since they've been active, including at least several times while he was teleported. I want you to use that data – and find a way to stop it."

"You wish a container – like the other." A second man responded, adjusting his glasses. "Is it another one of –  _those_?"

"Unknown – but doubtful," Fury admitted. "It's plausible that this target is capable of travelling straight into this base without setting off alarms – that must be stopped. Preventing access from smaller areas to this kind of travel has priority, so we can protect our most important data."

"Understood, sir."

Fury started as his phone rang – he'd gotten a replacement quickly enough, but the ringtone was still annoyingly itchy. "What?"

"We've found the signal!"

Fury smiled. "Excellent. Where is he?"

"It was found in data from a few minutes ago, sir – it's coming from approximately fifty miles south of here. There was a brief but significant pulse. It seems that the subject's stopped whatever dampening device he was using – those Nano-probes that remain are transmitting again, if only occasionally."

"Fifty miles is very close," Fury commented, frowning. "It's practically around the block compared to where he's supposed to be. Harry must've been involved with the breach. I suppose that confirms it, then – he broke in and took the classified data."

"The signal's at a distance of eighty miles in the very latest data that just came in, and as far as I can tell is moving southwards at high speed. The data's very intermittent though; judging by the velocity at which he moves, either our target's on an airplane or covering huge distances with that  _ability_ of his, and we're catching his stops."

"Heading south – that's interesting… How long will the Nano-probes last like this? Will we be able to gain more information regarding his abilities?"

The technician sighed on the other end of the phone-line. "They should have a few more hours of life in them if this Harry is travelling normally. Only a few minutes if he's teleporting – but I don't believe that's really that important right now. There's a stronger signal that I'm currently tracking. Your telephone – it's heading in the same direction."

"He left it  _on_?" Fury wondered, amazed. "Even the greatest buffoon knows that you can track someone's phone..."

"Looks like this one doesn't..." the technician replied, shrugging. "What can I say - a shut-in? Never watched a cop-show in his life?"

"Intriguing," Fury admitted, narrowing his eyes. "Perhaps he is simply so arrogant he doesn't care that people are following him - he hasn't shown any care before. He appears able to slip into one of the most well-protected vessels that exists, after all. Can we lock him out of the phone's functionality?"

"Signal strength is too weak – we can get its location, but what information we get is fairly garbled, and I think anything we send would not be properly received and fail to do its job. Still – we can extrapolate based on current trajectory and get some idea of the target's destination, especially if he keeps using the phone."

Fury nodded. "Relay all relevant information to Agent Romanoff and myself only until further notice – we're taking this one down."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

_94 days since last incident._

Making his way through the bush was tough – hacking away at plants and wiry roots was tiring business and Bruce brushed sweat off his forehead as he forced himself to continue, his muscles protesting about a lengthy day of abuse.

He'd been gathering the rarest of Brazilian herbs for a week now, and it was still a mystery to him how the plants managed to grow only in the most inaccessible of places – high up on cliffs, in spider-infested caves or embedded so deeply into the forest that it took half an hour to even get through the mess of plants that completely covered them.

Ninety-four days – Bruce smiled to himself slightly as he pulled a hand through his tangled brown hair to get rid of some of the knots. He'd been trying new methods of control of late, and something appeared to be working, at least a little – perhaps it was the breathing techniques that he'd been learning from a local Jujitsu expert, though he was really not good enough that they could be having any effect – not that he was ever very much the type for martial arts. Well… perhaps the Other Guy was.

"Hey, little vira-lata, where are you?" Bruce said, glancing around the trees as he made his way out of the cluster of vines and twigs with his prize: three bright pink flowers, their leafs oddly twisted and somewhat droopy. He didn't know its name – wouldn't be surprised if it didn't have one yet – but it matched the description he'd read well enough.

The mixed-breed dog that he'd sort of adopted suddenly appeared, tongue lolling out of its mouth. Bruce really shouldn't have fed the little mongrel all those scraps. Now it seemed to follow him around wherever he went, even fairly large distances from Rocinha, the little shanty-town he called home these days. He'd been somewhat glad that the Other Guy never bothered with his 'pet'.

It'd been four years now - four years since the experiment, since his whole life had gone down the drain. He still missed Betty and hoped that someday things could get a little better again, but it didn't look too likely. Unless he managed to keep a lid on his volatile emotions, he'd wreck any place that he'd go to. Well, not him exactly - the Other Guy. The monster.

He finally put the flowers away in his bag, glad he'd brought along a good-sized pack to keep them in – soon he'd need to find somewhere to test these, as his own supplies were limited, and they wouldn't stay intact forever. Pondering what to do about that, he didn't pay much attention to where he was going.

"Oy, are you Bruce Banner?"

His head shot up and he gasped, heart suddenly thundering in his chest: a complete stranger had appeared before him as if appearing from nowhere, gazing at him worriedly. Bruce clasped at his chest, forcing his breath to slow – thankfully, his heartbeat stopped pounding in his ears and he slowly unclasped his fists - the new arrival just stood there, unarmed.

Someone had found him – all the way out here.

The dark-haired bespectacled man, dressed in what appeared to be remarkably thick clothing for the temperature was looking at him worriedly, frowning slightly. Although Bruce had gotten somewhat calmer, his pulse refused to stop ringing around his skull as he finally spoke, harsher than he'd intended.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man smiled then, sticking out his hand. "My name's Harry – I came quite a long way to talk to you."


	9. Banner

Bruce stared at the man in confusion, then down at his outstretched hand. When he didn't drop it after a few moments, he sighed and quickly shook it. "What do you want?"

"So hasty, that's not at all a good trait to have, you know..." Harry said, smiling. "Well, I suppose it depends on who you ask. I've always been a fan of high speeds myself."

"What are you doing here?" Bruce asked again. The bespectacled man opposite him ran a hand through his hair and shrugged nonchalantly. Bruce didn't know what to make of him; he certainly wasn't a government agent, not without even a gun on him, and the casual attitude didn't exactly scream bounty-hunter either.

"As I said, I came to speak to you," Harry admitted, glancing around. "Though I appreciate the ambiance, perhaps it would be more suitable to find a more enclosed space to speak? You never know who might be listening out here." He tapped his ear and smiled. "Watching too, I suppose."

Bruce grumbled, sizing up the new arrival. Short and fairly lean, Harry didn't seem particularly remarkable; he had a vague British accent of some sort or another and a faint scar peeking through his hair which looked rather windswept. He definitely didn't seem like much of a threat. Bruce forced himself to relax, his heart rate slowly dropping to normal levels.

It took about fifteen minutes for the pair to trudge over to the little hovel Bruce had constructed out here to take an occasional nap; he dropped the few supplies he'd taken with him inside, glancing at Harry who stood impassively by the camp's side, looking mildly intrigued at the small microscope that he'd set up in the back corner, which could be lighted with a small solar mirror.

Harry hadn't said a word the whole way to the camp; Bruce hadn't tried to start a conversation and was still rather uncomfortable with the man's presence, wondering if he should ask this new guest once more what exactly he was doing here, or how he was even aware of this location. He doubted he'd get any answers. Glancing back at him Bruce noticed that the man was interestedly looking at all his belongings, including the sizable collection of flora samples.

"You're researching local plant life?" Harry asked as he studied the collection with a critical eye, gently brushing over the petals of some of the flowers. "I know a thing or two about these things, you know – studied the topic, once upon a time, if never very deeply." He glanced up. "I didn't know you could find daisies out here in the wilderness."

Bruce frowned in annoyance as he studied Harry. "There are over twenty-thousand species of Daisy worldwide; just about the only place you can't find them is  _space_. Are you sure you know what you're looking at?"

Harry ignored the question, rifling through the remainder of the samples. "Huh, you have some Black Hellebore here – you can make some good concoctions with that..." Humming softly under his breath he quickly sorted through the rest. "Quite a nice assortment, I'm sure my friend Neville's would've enjoyed looking over them. I take it you were gathering Brazilian rosewood, earlier? Didn't think it grew this far south..."

"You actually do know your plants," Bruce observed, perplexed. "I'm mildly impressed. Now, seriously, what are you doing here? Don't ignore the question again. What were you thinking, sneaking up on me, out there? If you knew where to look for me, you must know that I'm a target."

"Eh, S.H.I.E.L.D. already knows you're here, I wouldn't worry too much," Harry said lightly. Bruce turned to him, eyes widening.

" _What did you say_?"

* * *

"You're serious, aren't you?" Fury wondered with some amazement as he shook his head and groaned. "Just when I thought things were about as bad as they could get... What the hell is this guy thinking?"

"I don't know, sir." Agent Coulson smiled. "Looks like I came back just in time to catch the latest interesting stuff, didn't I? I swear, trying to get an appointment with Mr. Stark is like trying to hit the moon with a bottle-rocket, I'd much rather keep an eye on teleporting thieves."

Fury rolled his eye. "Interesting pastimes aside – we have one rather slippery fellow paying a visit to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s number one unmanageable problem. With Banner there, we're looking at something that we've got no handle on." Fury frowned. "With the way these extraordinary people keep popping up, we're bound to see more situations like this. I must contact the World Security Council as soon as this is dealt with."

"Do we know for certain that Banner and Harry are working together?" Coulson wondered, studying the file he'd been reading intently. "There's no known contact between them, and we have a pretty close timeline and log on what the former was doing over the last few years. He did vanish a few times, but I doubt we'd only see him by coincidence when he was all alone."

"Well, if they're not working together, that'd mean this Harry is even crazier than I thought: not just breaking in here, but intentionally seeking out  _that_ guy." He turned to Coulson. "Go check downstairs. I want information the instant they find out anything about Harry's capabilities, or how to stop that trick of his."

Coulson nodded, quickly striding off, while Fury turned back and stared at his screen filled with pictures of both Harry and Banner and an aerial shot that showed the two of them near some sort of camp out in the wilderness. With a start Fury realized he had no idea whether or not Harry was more or less dangerous. He was not as unstable, perhaps, but quite capable of sneaking into a Helicarrier and pilfer things from the director of the facility. Banner would tear the place apart instead; either way, they'd have no easy way of stopping either, it seemed.

Grabbing his new phone, Fury quickly typed in a message to Agent Romanoff. Her team would be going into a considerably dangerous area with another known threat. Fury frowned as he thought about the place Harry had fled to: right towards one of the only people that S.H.I.E.L.D. would not willingly assault, knowing that it'd be a losing battle. Even the full might of the military could probably only slow him down, if he got really angry.

Harry might be setting up a trap, Fury considered, but anyone would realize that would be their opponent's first thought, and he was sure nobody would telegraph setting a trap quite so blatantly. No, it was more likely that Harry was using the greater threat that Banner posed to insulate himself from direct attacks. He was hiding in plain sight, knowing that S.H.I.E.L.D. would not be stupid enough to try and take him with someone like Banner right there, though he thought wrongly. He could've vanished as the Nano-probes had finally stopped transmitting, but he left the stolen phone turned on to let his pursuers know where he was. To show them that they couldn't touch him.

"Either you're completely nuts, or you've got an ego the size of the Rose Bowl," Fury muttered, staring at the screen. "I guess we'll find out which."

* * *

"S.H.I.E.L.D. knows you're here," Harry repeated slowly." They've been tracking you for a while. They're not in any hurry to get you, though. I figure they're more interested in making sure you're out of their way." He looked at Bruce, intrigued. "Why is it that they're after you, anyway?"

Bruce turned away. "If they know I'm here, then the others might know, and they'll come after me." He shook his head, wiping hair out of his eyes. "I appreciate the warning, even if that clearly isn't what you came here for. Now – can you let me in peace? I don't want to be responsible for – problems."

Harry sighed, squatting. "Well, you see: there  _is_ a problem. I didn't come to find you because I thought it'd be a halfway interesting thing to do. Well, I admit I do rather like the surroundings, but I really came to ask for a little help from one of the only people S.H.I.E.L.D. seems hesitant to attack."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "They're after you, too."

Harry nodded, idly listening to Fury talking to a scientist; the great distance didn't actually diminish the volume of what he was hearing, but it would probably not do the spell's duration any good. Still, on a solid object it could hold for months. "At first, I think they were just intrigued by me, and I let it go. By the time I got to America, things got a little more intense though. They started sending people after me that kept a weapon pointed at me constantly, tried to put tracking devices on me. They succeeded, too." He scratched his chin, looking at Bruce over his glasses. "Then I did something that was rather… stupid of me, in retrospect." He looked rather embarrassed. "I sort of broke into the S.H.I.E.L.D. base and made off with some information while I was figuring out their game."

Banner blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Interesting, but … what does this have to do with me?"

"Well, the information I took…" Harry reached into his pocket and dangled Fury's phone before him. "It included your last known location, and that was only a mile or two from here. It wasn't very difficult from there. I already knew S.H.I.E.L.D. was after you, and my arrival hasn't given them any new information, but by now they'll know we're here together."

"You think they will leave you alone just because I'm around?" Bruce snapped, his wristwatch giving a beep. He breathed out slowly, frowning. "I think you'd be better off with them than you are here. I – there's a reason that they might be hesitant to be near me. Heck, I'd rather not be near me, if that was an option. I have a darkness in me, that you wouldn't want to meet. I'm not like other people. I think… you'd better go."

Harry just sat there for a while, poking at the ground with a stick. He knew all about having darkness within him – between his former ability to speak Parseltongue, supposedly 'dark magic', and Voldemort's connection and even possession, he couldn't help but shiver. Of course, there was nothing in particular wrong about such things; he'd used dark magic before while an Auror, and he was disturbingly good at some of the spells. He knew how pernicious they could be, though. He didn't use dark magic without a very good reason, and there hadn't been any in years, thankfully, but he did do it when things got tough. It was always a little harder to resist using them, the next time: darker spells tended to be the easy solution, if not the right one, as Professor Dumbledore would've put it.

"Dr. Banner... having a darker side or being unusual is hardly something new to me." He sighed. "I've known people who have fought their entire life against the nastier sides of themselves, and you don't strike me as someone who relishes in that sort of thing. I might not know specifics, but I think I can speak from experience, here." He smiled. "For many years, due to events beyond my control, I've been singled out, forced to do things I didn't want to do, even. It took me years to cleanse what was responsible for all that, and I still forget that it's gone, sometimes. I think everyone's got something like that."

Bruce looked at him sadly. "Not like mine, I think. Not the kind where you take yourself apart from everyone else for their safety."

"What, you don't think I know what it's like to go into voluntary exile?" Harry asked, laughing softly. "I've done that for years now. I locked myself up and threw away the key, in a way. I had to break down the door before I could even think about starting a new life. It's only been a few months, and I still feel as I'm in exile… it's just that this time, the door doesn't seem to be locked." He shook his head. "Regardless, before I can get back to that I'd appreciate your assistance with S.H.I.E.L.D. I might be able to help you with a few other things after that, in recompense. I have a... well, I suppose he's a friend. Well, acquaintance, really. But I did save his life."

"I think you would count as a friend, at that point," Bruce pointed out dryly.

"He's – an odd fellow. Really sarcastic, has a knack for being rude. I don't know what he'd call it." Harry shrugged. "I figure you're like me: you want to stay out of the public eye, if perhaps for different reasons. Maybe we're similar in other ways, too. I do wonder. If you really want to be alone, I'd be a hypocrite if I resented such a thing."

"You speak like you know things, but then you say things that show you don't," Bruce noted after a while. "This S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff: when it's over, will you leave me be? I'll move elsewhere, far away; you wouldn't be able to find me again. I've vanished before, I can do it again. You go to your exile, I to mine."

"Ah, doctor," Harry said, smiling. "After this is over, we'll figure something out. Until then it's better to live a little, don't you think? Here, I have sandwiches; those have to be better than these unsightly looking fruits of yours. Yech."

* * *

"Barton, what's our ETA?"

"Thirty minutes," Barton answered loudly over the sound of the helicopter, glancing at Natasha, who sat beside him, flanked on the other side by two other agents. "Do you have your ammo?"

"Fifty-two rounds of the sandman," Natasha confirmed. "Morpheus rounds. They should put him out like a light. I don't like this latest info about our target, though. It seems like we'll be dealing with  _Banner_ too. With the way the Director talks about him, we'd better be on our toes, or he'll stomp them right off. Let's hope he won't interfere with this and we can all head home."

"These rounds will work on him too, you know." A third Agent commented. He tapped his gun and smiled. "They should work on damn near anything. If Banner's being a pest, well…"

"No heroics, Santana. We take the target, no more," Barton warned, gazing at his full quiver of prepared arrows. "Hunting Banner has no priority right now. Director's orders. We should keep any aggression to a minimum here, to avoid... well, a mess. Let's keep it at that."

"Understood," Santana answered morosely, sighing deeply. "Man, it's been three months since I've even been off the carrier. I figured I'd get more than a snatch 'n grab." He looked down at his gun. "I suppose it beats yet another cleaning assignment, though. Eh, Parkers?" The man beside him shrugged, gazing outside in silence.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, looking at her phone with a frown. "Harry's taken a mobile phone, apparently. Well, a really advanced one, I suppose. You don't think it's actually  _his_ that was taken _,_ Clint?" She smiled. "I bet it is. That note being so personal really betrays it."

"I suppose Harry was mocking the Director. Beating the best technology has to offer and then leaving a message on  _parchment?_ I suppose he think he's a comedian." Barton flipped open his own phone. "Constant Vigilance? Well, I guess we'll find out if he sticks to his own words. I do wonder if he worked alone to do that little carrier heist?"

"Interrogation can ask those kinds of questions," Santana pointed out. "We've got, what, twenty minutes until we reach their position? I'd say lock and load and find a good spot to take the shot."

* * *

"You're still here?" Bruce wondered as Harry sauntered closer, dropping down at the stream's edge and dabbing his hand in the clear water.

"You haven't sent me away yet," Harry responded lightly. "I admit I do like the environment here. Nice and warm, wonderful plant-life, there's even someone to have a half-decent conversation with." He smirked. "Perhaps at some point, you can tell me what you're struggling with."

Bruce scowled. "I'd rather not."

"Eh, I have a trustworthy face, you'll cave eventually." Harry smiled, dropping onto his back. "You know – I really missed this kind of thing, back in my old life. I couldn't just head to South America on a whim, people would've dragged me back by the dozens before the week was out, and I'd get into all sorts of trouble. Now, well, things are different. Heck, you don't even recognize me, and Tony wasn't any different. There's nobody that comes along and forces me back into what I'm supposed to do. It's wonderful!"

"Tony?"

"Stark," Harry answered. "He's a nice fellow - I sort of saved his life, he figures. He's the  _friend_  I mentioned. Well, sort-of-friend. We tolerate each other."

" _Tony Stark?_ " Bruce wondered, staring. "Billionaire weapons-dealer Tony Stark of Stark Industries?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Harry responded casually. "I found him while I was on vacation. Well, sort of. After that, things got out of my control. He wanted to give me a ride to America as payment, and then he put my face on the news against my wishes. We still disagree on that one. In any case, this beats Afghanistan."

Bruce looked at the man in bewilderment. "You're pretty strange, you know."

"Strange? I suppose. Hasn't bothered me any." Harry stretched and sighed deeply. "I came here for a semblance of a normal life – or so I thought. I've only been here for a short while, an already I'm entangled with billionaires and spy agencies. I don't think having a normal life is something I'm very good at." He shook his head tiredly. "I'll figure out what I'm looking for in time. It's an 'I will know it when I see it' kind of thing, I guess."

"On a journey of self-discovery?" Bruce asked. "I don't think you'll find it with me."

Harry didn't answer, staring up at the clouds. "You know, you're taking the fact that a random person dropped in on you awfully well, especially for a paranoid bloke."

"I suppose finding someone who knows about me and doesn't want to capture or kill me is fairly new ground," Bruce retorted dryly. "I take it you have your own...  _quirks_  that has S.H.I.E.L.D. after your hide. You keep your secrets, I'll keep mine."

Harry sighed. "Well, here's one 'secret' that I think you ought to know: I can be an inconsiderate prick at times. My time in law enforcement was interesting, but I ended up putting goals before people and I quit after I realized I was turning into someone I couldn't get along with. I admit that's one of the motives why I came here today, too. Sorry."

"What…?"

"The S.H.I.E.L.D. matter. I figured your presence would be enough to keep them from attacking me, but I hadn't really considered that it might bring more attention to you, or that you might have to leave. It was rather selfish." He shook his head. "I've been living a rather care-free life, of late. I haven't really thought much about how I'm impacting people, I admit. Didn't think it mattered. I suppose talking to you made me realize that I get that sort of stuff wrong, too."

Bruce didn't say anything to that for a while.

"You can resent me, you know; I deserve it."

Bruce glanced at Harry. "No, it's alright. I suppose I'd be a hypocrite if I told you off for trying to avoid S.H.I.E.L.D. Just... don't do it again, please."

Harry smirked and wanted to answer when he suddenly perked up and raised a hand to his ear as Fury suddenly spoke up loudly. His eyes went wide as he looked in the distance with a start. "Already? How did they…?" His gaze snapped to Bruce. "Hide, now!"

Bruce managed to cover his head and drop down to the ground an instant before several projectiles buried themselves into the ground where he'd just been with dull thuds; Harry had moved aside as quickly as he could, covering behind a tree as it was pelted with projectiles.

* * *

"You missed?" Barton wondered as he glanced at Parkers, who shrugged apologetically, reloading his long-range gun. He scowled in the direction of the target. "He can't have seen us at this range."

"He didn't: he put a hand to his ear just before he ducked. Someone warned him. He's got to have another accomplice," Natasha concluded, raising her gun. "What I'm wondering is why he's still there, not halfway to Ecuador."

_"_ Director, the target was warned about our attack," Barton said, tapping his radio. "He's still in the area. I can just barely see him peeking out from behind a tree he's using as shelter. No idea where Banner is, but probably close."

_"Approach carefully, there's no need for anyone to get hurt. If you get a clear shot, take it. We'll sort the rest out here."_

"Understood, sir. Tranquilizer rounds are loaded." Barton waved forward, glancing at Natasha. Santana and Parkers closed out the procession, both keeping an eye on the trees, looking for the one who had sent the warning. "We're going in."

Approaching the tree Harry was hiding behind, Barton was uncertain how to go about it. Harry seemed to have remained in the same position, but it could simply be a diversion so he moved slowly sideways, his bow at the ready.

"Stop where you are!" Harry yelled and Barton froze, mere feet from having a clear shot.

"Surrender, and you won't be hurt," Barton yelled. "We're with S.H.I.E.L.D. You have taken confidential information and infiltrated secure facilities! Give up and you won't be hurt."

Harry laughed and Barton felt a chill run down his back at the sound; he raised his bow. Harry's voice rang out again: "I think spying on innocent people and firing at them unprovoked is also illegal, isn't it? Regardless – I don't think it's very smart to come any closer. I'm not alone."

"We'll take Banner out too if we need to, thief," Santana snarled, his gun at the ready.

Harry didn't answer for a few moments, then sighed. "You know, submitting to hostage-takers isn't really something for me. I have problems with such people. Let him go – let Banner go. I hadn't anticipated your arrival so quickly - he's not a part of this. Shooting us isn't going to help any. We can discuss this like civil people."

"The only reason you're still here, Harry, is because of Banner," Natasha smoothly interjected. "I know you - you're afraid we might do something to your – friend. Stand down."

"Hello, Natasha – I wish our reunion was under friendlier circumstances." Harry said casually. "When we're done here, I suppose I can take you out for a drink." He laughed as she scoffed. "Right now, though - if S.H.I.E.L.D.'s crazy enough to come after me while I'm with Dr. Banner – yes, I'm definitely afraid of what you might do to him. Let him go. We can discuss terms, if you really want to. Oh, Agent Barton – don't move."

Barton froze mid-step, wondering how the man knew his name, still scowling at Harry's casual mention of them being hostage-takers. "If you give yourself up, we'll let him leave," he said.

Harry sighed miserably. "You know, shooting at me isn't really a way to get in my good graces. You're glad I know you're not actually out to kill me." He paused. "Fine, I'll come – I wanted to talk to Fury anyway. Just… don't shoot me, alright? It'd be a bother. I guess the Director sent you in his stead. Not quite what I was hoping for, honestly."

"Walk out with your hands up – then Banner can leave."

* * *

Harry slowly rose from his position, frowning. He hadn't really intended things to go like this, and his ideas constantly failing was beginning to annoy him. Banner had dropped to the ground and was gasping for breath, his wristwatch beeping loudly, while at least four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were holed up nearby. They were after  _him,_ not Banner. He'd rather not be responsible for them capturing him. Said man was looking decidedly unresponsive right now.

He'd been tempted to just blast the agents off their feet and obliviate them, but it'd be a decidedly unfriendly thing to do, and Fury was pissed off enough without him knowing that Harry could manipulate minds. It was lucky that Barton had decided to check in with the man at the last moment before attacking – they'd have blindsided him outright if not for that. Fury was a lot cleverer than he'd anticipated and had figured out Harry might've bugged the carrier, but he couldn't have anticipated listening spells on his person which couldn't be easily gotten rid of. Perhaps it was about time he came to an accord, before things got even crazier.

"I'm coming out."

Harry had put his wand in his sleeve, just in case. He'd have to be ridiculously quick to stop actual bullets, but it seemed that what was being shot were little darts that probably moved a lot slower, the tranquilizer shots that Barton had just mentioned to Fury. He silently placed an Impervius Charm on his clothes, hoping dearly that the agents wouldn't elect to shoot him in the face. As long as he kept his wand hidden with a Muggle Repelling Charm, he could probably keep S.H.I.E.L.D. off his back if necessary. He glanced back at Banner who had worked his way to his feet, his wristwatch still beeping. The man nodded to Harry, looking rather apologetic and ragged, breathing heavily. Barton and the others were still pointing their weapons at him, and Harry sighed. "Just let him go, I've done what you asked."

"Go." Barton barked. "Banner, you're free to leave."

"I'm sorry," Bruce said softly to Harry, who nodded.

"It's alright – I hadn't foreseen them being this quick." Harry responded, turning to Barton slowly. "Leave. I should never have brought you into this."

Bruce gave another quick nod and went to leave, nursing his wrist where his wristwatch was beeping loudly. He stumbled slightly as he worked his way out of the ditch, catching his breath.

"That beeping - is that...?" Santana wondered, narrowing his eyes as Bruce stomped some distance away, hand clutching at his chest. "Damn, I think he's going to change! We have to do something!"

"Stand down!" Barton barked. "Let him go."

Bruce glanced back then, his eyes gleaming with a green glow - Santana jerked away with a gasp and a small dart smacked into the back of Bruce's shoulder. He slumped to the ground with a cry. Barton and Natasha's gazes snapped towards Santana, who had his gun still raised, trembling. "Gotcha, freak." Harry ducked back behind his tree, wand in hand.

"You complete idiot, he was leaving - he was safe!" Barton barked, freezing as a strangled cry resounded from behind him – a cry that changed pitch mid-way through to be much, much lower. He looked over with trepidation: Bruce was down in the stream, writhing in pain. Barton paled. "Oh – Santana, you dumbass! Run. Everyone, get back to the chopper!"

"Who are you, Schwarzenegger?" Santana asked, his forced smile faltering as a monstrous roar resounded through the forest, cutting him off. "Oh."

Harry stared in horrified fascination at Banner, his pursuers forgotten as he took in what he was seeing. He'd been here for months now and he'd seen some mighty strange things, like semi-magical arc reactors and flying aircraft carriers – but this beat all. Dr. Banner, someone Harry had definitely been sure was a Muggle - was  _changing into something else._ Harry was eerily reminded of the time he'd seen Remus transform into his lupine form, back in his third year at Hogwarts.

Banner's cry still echoed among the trees as the four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents gave up their attempt to catch Harry, moving away at a quick pace. Banner writhed on the ground, his skin turning greenish as his muscles bulged and clothes shredded to pieces. One of his suddenly huge arms shot out and grasped the ground as he lifted himself up, vicious glowing green eyes standing out clearly.

Harry backed away as Bruce – the thing that used to be him - got to his feet, aggressive snarl on his contorted face as he raised himself to his full nine feet height and roared at the sky in mindless rage.

Then the creature noticed the fleeing agents - and Harry.

" _… Crap."_


	10. Hulk

It took Harry but a moment to realize his precarious position, as the great creature's eyes focused on him. Whatever Bruce had become, it was now angry,  _very_  angry. Harry gulped as it roared again, suddenly slamming one of its massive fists downwards towards him; he quickly cast a shield charm to deflect the hit, but the creature's sheer power was all too clear as the fist glanced off with a sound like a gong; Harry could feel it in his bones. One hit by  _that_  and he'd be toothpaste.

Harry stared, eyes wide, as the green behemoth nursed its fist and snarled at him, flexing its over-sized muscles and bellowing a challenge. Before Bruce could attempt to crush him once more, Harry turned on his heel and with a pop, he vanished.

He reappeared a few hundred feet from the stream in the little hovel Bruce had been living in. He listened to the green behemoth bellowing in protest in the distance as his prey was suddenly taken away. He quickly made his way uphill, keeping an eye on the massive creature as it wrecked trees around itself and cried out its frustration with a booming voice.

"What the bloody hell  _is_  it _?"_ Harry muttered and cringed as another pulverizing crack resounded through the forest; the creature smashed everything in its vicinity. "You might've mentioned  _this,_ Banner _…_ "

The transformation couldn't be anything Muggle, Harry was certain. Even with computers and other technology far beyond his understanding, he knew that people couldn't be  _this_  different. Back in his own world it wouldn't have been considered so unusual, perhaps. Between Animagi, Metamorphmagi and werewolves, he was well aware that wizards and witches could display the most astounding changes to their bodies. This, though,  _wasn't_  his world. This one didn't  _have_ a magical community; where would something like this come from? Was it like Lycanthropy, a disease? Some strange variation that changed you into something else?

"What kind of crazy place did I end up in anyway?" Harry wondered. Bruce's metamorphosis wasn't magical, perhaps, but certainly not Muggle as he was used to either. It was  _different_ , and he had no clue what to even call it. What was he going to do about this mess?

Grasping his wand tightly and pacing, Harry wavered on whether or not he should just sit this out. S.H.I.E.L.D. clearly had some idea about Bruce; this had to be the reason that they were hesitant to approach him in the first place, which he could now understand. They'd  _shot_ at him, though.

On the other hand, Fury had been yelling in his head for the past five minutes about violating orders, presumably speaking directly to the man who had shot Bruce in the back. He had enough experience with Aurors being too quick on their draw that he felt some compassion for the guy.

He could leave, Harry considered – with enough apparating he would disappear off S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar, though he'd have to ditch Fury's phone. Still, doing that did mean he called down all sorts of crap on Bruce and then fled without actually doing anything for him in return. They were like the DMLE in a way: Always on the lookout for potential and actual danger, and not always informed enough to distinguish the two. He'd been an Auror for long enough to know that they were doing a job. He also knew that running away from a conflict he helped set up would make him unambiguously a coward. Besides, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents could be in danger.

Harry headed for the distant roars, brandishing his wand as he thought of half a dozen curses he could use. Meanwhile he couldn't help but think back to Hermione's words about his 'saving people thing'. He hated it when she was right.

* * *

"You really are a fucking idiot," Barton snapped as he dropped next to Santana, who had paled so much he looked like he was about to faint. "You knew about Banner, what the hell were you thinking? You know that the Director will have your hide for this!" He shook his head as he gingerly glanced over the embankment, his bow ready to fire. He didn't know how far Natasha and Parkers had gotten – they were not within his line of sight, at least.

"They were supposed to work. They should've worked!" Santana said haltingly, his hands barely keeping his gun steady. He looked at Barton, then down at the floor. "I – I'm sorry." He winced as the radio suddenly activated and Fury's voice spoke in his ear. "Yes, sir. I know, sir. I'm sorry, sir…"

"Keep your apologies for base, we need to get out of here first," Barton muttered in discomfort, glancing over the edge again; the green brute seemed a bit disoriented and was smashing his immediate surroundings with impunity. Barton wasn't surprised: He'd seen what this Harry had just done, and it sent chills down his spine. He'd blocked Banner's hit. He'd actually  _blocked_ it, somehow. The air had turned to solid titanium in front of him, apparently. The next moment the man had vanished with a twist: he'd teleported right out of the fight. Despite suddenly being hopelessly outgunned, Barton couldn't actually blame him.

"How far is it?" Santana asked shortly, raising a hand to his radio and wincing. "How far is it to get to safety?"

"We're looking at well over two miles," Barton answered with a low voice, sneaking another peek. "It was a necessity to keep our noise levels down and not spook the target, but it's getting awfully annoying now. We can't run in the open, either – with Banner like this, he'll kill anything that moves." He tapped his radio. "Romanoff, Parkers, come in."

" _Shhh_!" Natasha answered. The signal crackled briefly. "We're closer than you two to its position – don't let it spot us. What can we do? Has anyone seen where Harry went?"

"He's gone," Barton retorted softly. "He teleported away after the first hit. I think the higher-ups are going to love what the man just pulled off, blocking that hulk. We need a distraction – if we want to get back home in one piece, we'll have to make sure that  _it_ doesn't notice us. Natasha, how many of those smoke pellets do you have?"

A roar interrupted them as Banner tore a tree from the ground in a single pull, clumps of dirt descending around him as he shook it solidly; instantly he was on the move, barrelling towards Barton; he had only a few moments to take it in and fear for his life when the beast suddenly changed directions mid-stride and slammed downward with the oversized club it had created; the huge log crashed into the soil with incredible power, sand sent flying everywhere as Banner picked up his weapon again. With a roar the weapon rose up again for another strike.

Barton froze as he noticed Natasha and Parkers stumble away from their hideout. It had just been totalled with the last hit and especially the latter was looking pretty messed up with blood clearly visible across his chest; he was also missing his jacket and most of his gear, though he had ammo clasped under his arm and was desperately trying to get it into his gun, shuddering as he was almost squashed by a gigantic fist. Natasha fired bullets directly at the beast's face, though they bounced off without causing any harm.

"Let's go, Santana. You might get your chance to make up for your idiocy," Barton barked, dragging the man upright; he sent an arrow flying as quickly as he could, a second nocked almost immediately and on its way too. It was a long way off, but Barton's aim was good enough; the projectiles smacked directly into the giant green monster's back before they exploded.

The creature was briefly engulfed in a great conflagration; it howled at the sudden attack from behind and it whirled about, ignoring its former targets entirely. Barton didn't have long to consider his shots as the remainder of the creature's club was sent flying in his direction; it crashed into two trees on its way over, embedding itself halfway into the embankment that had been his shelter, cracking straight down the middle under the stress. The creature that was Banner suddenly dashed his way, a snarl on its face and its fist was cocked back for a massive hit.

"No, no, no!" Santana muttered incoherently, spraying the approaching hulk with every tranquilizer shot he had left, only for them to bounce harmlessly off its hide. The man had only a split second to throw himself aside as it whirled past, and barely missed crushing him in a deadly pile-up.

"Head for the helicopter!" Natasha yelled through the radio, approaching from her old position with two pistols drawn and firing at Banner all the way, who seemed to ignore the bullets entirely. He seemed to find them no more annoying than mosquitoes. Barton fired three more arrows as he dragged Santana away, though his aim was slightly off the mark.

"We can't keep this up," Barton shouted as three more explosions were shrugged off with barely a flinch, the shallow cuts torn into the creature's hide vanishing almost instantly, healing at an unnatural speed. "Natasha, smoke."

Banner's alter ego once more shot forward in a roar to smash the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, when three pellets erupted around it and the creature suddenly stopped its charge, gazing around itself with a snarl; besides blocking the view, the smoke in question was a severe irritant to the eyes, and the green ogre took a step back as it raised a hand to its head.

"Go!" Barton commanded the others. Santana followed, haphazardly loading live rounds into his weapon as he ran. Natasha and Parkers quickly caught up, the latter holding one hand to his chest; part of his uniform had been ripped straight off. Judging from the twigs and dead leaves sticking to him he'd been hit by the falling tree rather than Banner, which would doubtlessly have been messier. "Do we have anything else to slow it down?" Barton asked urgently, quickly firing two more arrows into the billowing smoke. He would quickly run out of them if this kept up, as most of the other tips he had were useless on this thing. "Director – how do we stop this thing?"

"We're not going to make it like this!" Santana whispered fearfully, glancing behind himself as he desperately kept up with the others.

_"I'm keeping an eye out from the sky. You are in a thickly wooded area, few vehicles nearby can actually be of assistance. The nearest S.H.I.E.L.D. team to you is twenty minutes out. Do what you must."_

"Understood," Barton noted, getting three more arrows ready to fire. "We need an exit – the tactic we used will not work again. There's still over a mile to go, and that thing is  _mad.´_

The Banner-creature blasted out of the billowing smoke with a furious howl, its feet thundering across the forest floor at an incredible pace as it ripped up the soil in great clumps; it focused on the foursome and let out a fearsome warcry; the creature was far quicker than any of them and closed in at a tremendous rate. All Barton could do was feel cold dread as it bore down upon them within five seconds; he tried to get a last shot off, to buy some time. He glanced at his quiver for one last arrow…

There was a sudden popping sound, quite nearby, almost obscured by the primal roar of the creature as it prepared to smash. Then an earth-shatteringly loud cacophony rang through the air as if a thousand gongs were struck simultaneously. Barton snapped his hands to his ears as the sound reverberated inside his skull like it was an echo chamber. He blinked, then; before him stood a silhouette with one arm raised. It took him a moment to recognize who had jumped in between them and the monster.

Natasha was the first to speak. "…Harry?"

* * *

Harry winced at the impact that the Bruce-creature had made on his Shield Charm, glancing behind him to see that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents seemed to be in one piece. Bruce had been blasted back quite effectively by his spell, a variation that he'd researched early in his Auror career as he remembered Voldemort using it in his duel with Dumbledore; learning from your enemies remained a viable tactic, after all. The Bruce-creature was slowly making his way upright; the hit had done no more than wind the beast, it seemed.

"Is everyone alright?" he yelled, glancing back again.

"…Yes," Natasha confirmed, out of breath. "Why did you…? Didn't you leave?"

Harry smiled self-deprecatingly. "If you'd been a bit quicker on your feet, I would have." He turned to the creature. "Banner, if you're in there, now's a pretty good time to turn back." Harry worriedly noticed that despite firing their guns at the huge beast, not a wound was in sight. How could one possibly win against something like this without magic?

"We have to go," Barton shouted at the three other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. "Let's use this reprieve. Natasha, Parkers – take the right. I'll go along the left with Santana." He turned back, hesitating, glancing between the creature and Harry. "… Can you keep him busy?"

"Go," Harry muttered, narrowing his eyes. "One rescue per customer. Get your asses back to Fury and maybe you can put in a good word for me. I'll take care of this… Hulk."

Harry kept a close eye on the Hulk's actions, and the fact that it was slowly, very slowly, making its way upright didn't fool him. It was planning, perhaps analysing – hardly the actions of a dumb beast. It had met someone who could stop it in mid-attack, and clearly that hadn't happened very often. It paid no mind to the departing S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

Harry turned his full attention to the giant before him; remarkably intelligent eyes stared at him. It grunted as it made its way upright, slowly approaching Harry who stood his ground.

"If you're in that Hulk, Banner… I don't want to hurt you," Harry tried. "I'll find a way to turn you back, you can believe that much."

The Hulk's fist smashed forward in an instant, and Harry was extremely glad about his Shield Charm as the massive hand glanced off once more. With a roar the Hulk slammed its fists down on the earth in a shocking burst of strength, blasting a great amount of dust into the sky. Harry was almost thrown off his feet by the shock wave, and he backed off, seeking sturdier ground. He glanced back at the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents; they were retreating, though not moving very quickly – he'd have to buy more time. The creature slowly started to circle Harry's position, apparently trying to figure out what had stopped it. Harry kept his wand ahead of him, thinking of half a dozen tactics he could use – finally he shrugged and started with the most elementary. " _Stupefy!_ "

The spell hit the Hulk straight on the chest, and it faltered for a moment; after a moment of disorientation though, the concentrated fury was back.

The next attack was far quicker and stronger than any so far and Harry's Shield Charm reverberated as it absorbed the blow. Harry hastily sent two more Stunners, each of which had minor effect, but not nearly what he was used to on people. Considering its recovery time, Harry had no way of casting as many Stunners as he would need to keep the creature down.

"Must be the thick skin, like a giant's," he murmured. As it was about to attack again, Harry sent a wave of blistering fire the creature's way in a huge flare - it barely noticed the assault. The fire burned brightly but was just as quickly doused again as the Hulk's skin had already healed over before it was properly scarred. Severing Charms and Cutting Curses proved somewhat effective, but the great gouges they left behind closed swiftly and with each one the creature got madder, smashing harder and reducing trees and the ground to cinders and rubble. Indeed, if it hadn't been for his Shield Charms, Harry figured he'd have been dead meat for quite a while now.

That healing was a heck of a lot swifter than any Muggle should be capable of, Harry figured. Indeed, it reminded him of the effects of Phoenix' tears. Skin knitting together and burn wounds smoothing out as if they'd never been there, cuts vanishing before his eyes. Harry's usual duelling spells were having about the same effect as throwing snowballs, and it didn't help that Bruce only seemed to have gotten bigger and more muscled, rather than tiring out.

Harry considered using some of the darker spells he knew – the nasty stuff he'd occasionally had to rely on as an Auror, and was disturbingly good at. Thick skin or not, he was pretty sure half of those spells could end up doing irreparable damage the giant green creature, and he felt guilty enough about getting Bruce into this situation in the first place, without compounding it by permanently injuring him. He'd have to use more conventional spells. (He shuddered to think what S.H.I.E.L.D. would think of the contents of his most dangerous arsenal, too. They might just decide to kill him right there.)

Slowly, Harry walked away from the direction that Natasha and the others were heading in, glad to note thanks to his tracking charm, they were practically at their helicopter. He kept his Shield Charm up and lured Bruce along, which proved more difficult than he'd anticipated.

Apparating out came to mind, but he couldn't leave Bruce in this state and have S.H.I.E.L.D. or someone else pick him off. No, this had to be his responsibility.

Strafing around a huge log, to use it as cover, Harry spotted something from the corner of his eye. He turned slightly and found something interesting hanging limply from the branches of one of the fallen trees, alongside a destroyed backpack. It was an earpiece with a small blinking light – one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had to have dropped it. He smiled.

* * *

_"He saved our lives. He was going to give himself up, too. I think we can give him a little credit, there."_  Natasha said, and the radio crackled briefly.  _"I think that backs up my argument. Whatever you can say about him, he's a good guy."_

"I concede it is remarkably honourable to save the life of an opponent, though I'd be hesitant to go with such an interpretation of events." Fury frowned. "What can you tell me?"

_"Agent Parkers is wounded – he'll have to get to a hospital. Santana's been stitching him up."_  She coughed.  _"That guy's kind of miserable right now,"_  she confided.  _"I think he blames himself."_

"He'd better," Fury answered. "We'll discuss the issue on the carrier."

_"Should we leave, now?"_

Fury didn't answer for a moment, focusing on the satellite images that he was still receiving. The forest was too thick to clearly see what was going on, but occasionally there'd be a flash of green or a massive tree would crash to the ground to indicate what was going on; stranger were flashes of light that briefly illuminated the area, which had no identifiable source.

_"We're nearly at the helicopter, what are our orders, sir?"_

"Wait it out. Get the chopper above the treeline and check if you can see any more. It's quite possible that Harry will teleport away once you're on board, presuming that he is only keeping Banner busy." Fury said, frowning. "Figure out what else he can do. It seems like we're dealing with quite a bit more than just teleportation. He might be a greater danger than we anticipated."

_"I'm flattered, Director."_

Fury paused, blinking. He tapped his earpiece. "Who is this?"

_"This is Harry, pleased to meet you. Would have liked it to be – hah – under better circumstances."_  There was a scraping sound, and Fury heard heavy breathing on the other end of the line. He narrowed his eyes as he noticed a large tree collapsing at the same time, on his video image. The voice returned, sounding tired.  _"Director Fury, is it?"_

"How did you get onto this channel?" Fury growled. "It's secure!"

_"I would… tell you all the details, but I'm busy. I'm sure… you realize that."_  The sound cut out for a moment _. "I took this ear thingy off the ground; someone dropped it. It probably won't last very long. So … listen."_  There was another brief silence.  _"I'll cut to the chase: you have all the details; what's his weakness?"_

"Why should I tell a thief and a fugitive anything?" Fury asked sharply, glaring at the screen.

_"Bloody hell, I'll give you your phone back, alright? Ah…"_  Fury glanced at his screen, and for a split second, he saw the huge green bulk of Banner, dashing after a much smaller dot; the great behemoth repeatedly tripped and stumbled.  _"Just… tell me what I can do to help Banner, and I'll come – speak to you. Without the whole breaking in thing. How does that… sound? I tried to – negotiate with the others, but… things went awry."_

Fury frowned. "Harry – that is your name, correct?" He paused, remembering Barton's call: This Harry had just thrown himself in front of Banner and saved the lives of all four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents sent to take him down. "Taking your recent actions into account, I'll consider extending an olive branch… though if you screw with me one more damn time like that stunt on my carrier, you won't see the outside of an isolation cell for the next  _decade_." He shook his head at the destruction on his screen; Banner and Harry left the place a ruin of dead wood and utterly ravaged soil, and more of the huge trees were being felled as he watched. "You're doing the opposite of what works: Rage only  _empowers_ him. Banner's transformation is reliant on his emotions – the best thing to do is to get out of the way."

Harry didn't answer for a few moments. When his voice returned, it sounded strangely amused.  _"He needs anger management? That's it? Well, that's – a bit embarrassing…"_ The signal dropped. Fury sat back, frowning. It was a matter of seeing whether Harry would honour his word or if he was just messing with S.H.I.E.L.D. again. He briefly wondered if the man took anything seriously.

Saving the lives of the very people that just tried to take you in, though? Fury wondered if he'd actually misjudged the man. And he's promised to give his phone back, too...

* * *

Harry threw the strongest Banishing Charm he knew at the Hulk, blasting it back a slight distance, though it gripped the soil solidly with its massive hands and kept position easily. The moment the charm dropped it was attacking again, pummelling Harry around even with the Shield Charm active as the very earth shook and the displacement of air forced him to take steps back and avoid treading into holes and fissures that appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

He had tried quite a few spells, keeping himself as safe as he could with Shield Charms – fire and blunt damage didn't seem to really affect the Hulk much, and his brief attempt at levitating the brute to get rid of its strength advantage was ruined when it managed to get a grip on a nearby tree and rip it from the ground in one pull; dodging the makeshift projectile that nearly crushed him, Harry had to break his spell. It didn't help that the Hulk had figured out that keeping something between himself and Harry's attacks – like a log – was quite effective, so half the curses he sent weren't even hits.

Time for something a little different. Raising his wand like a conductor, Harry concentrated on one of the fields he'd improved in the most since Hogwarts, after finding out his father's specialty: Transfiguration. He wasn't anywhere near Dumbledore's level of mastery, but he liked to think he could pull off some nice tricks, and there was certainly plenty of debris around to use. Twirling his wand in a quick circle, he suddenly pointed it at the dead trees that littered the soil – they writhed and came alive.

_"Telekinetic, it has to be,"_ Fury murmured in the background, and Harry smirked; the Hulk was briefly distracted from trying to find a way around the Shield Charm as branches shot out and wrapped themselves around his legs like vines, a huge trunk ambling its way upright, using three branches as support. The tree trunk struck out with many vine-like tangles, covering the Hulk's fist as the beast tried to free its legs. The only reason it seemed to work at all was that the awkward position hampered the creature's mobility; its muscles were certainly more powerful than the plants. Ripping away one of its hands the Hulk snarled at the massive animated trunk and lashed out: The punch completely ripped apart the tree, but more vine-like branches found their chance and snatched his hand once more.

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow, keeping the spell going with his other hand. Unlike Dumbledore, he didn't have the skill quite yet to maintain such a complex spell, without keeping his mind on it, and it would deteriorate quickly if he didn't. That his opponent was incredibly powerful and aggressive wasn't helping, either. Indeed, every time his agile creepers managed to catch the Hulk's appendages he'd just rip them free again and Harry would have to start over.

Keeping this up would be difficult, Harry realized - he could throw spells all day, but unlike his foe he wasn't getting any more powerful. The creature opposite him seemed only to get madder with every hit, and Fury had claimed it was that very rage that empowered it. Why not get rid of that, then? Before the Hulk had enough time to rip itself away from the animated foliage entirely, Harry dropped his transfiguration spell and focused on another. It was one of the simplest spells he knew, actually: The Cheering Charm. The Hulk bellowed and ripped its arm free, and this time there was no replacement vine to catch it again.

Casting the charms as quickly as possible, Harry stood his ground as the Hulk ripped itself entirely free; it couldn't avoid the half dozen quick-fire spells that met its path, though, and shuddered. For a long moment, the charms didn't seem to be working, but when the Hulk finally turned to Harry, it stopped and blinked in confusion. It seemed indecisive; another Cheering Charm hit it and the corners of its mouth turned up.

Then it laughed.

The deep, hearty chuckle was such an alien sound that Harry stopped and stared. The Hulk sat down, holding its sides, tears of laughter running down its face – it just got louder and louder. Harry rubbed his forehead, staring in embarrassment. He'd been more heavy-handed with the charm than he should have been, it seemed: Bruce had gone way beyond cheer and straight into hysteria.

The attack was too quick for Harry to stop - the Hulk's punch went straight through where his Shield Charm should've been, catching him in the midriff and sending him flying like a rag doll. He slowly rolled to a stop, blinking blearily. He coughed and wheezed, desperately trying to draw in breath as, slowly, feeling returned to his extremities - his wrist hurt from hitting the ground and the back of his head felt like someone had been tapdancing on it. He wondered, briefly, how he'd survived, how that hit hadn't flattened him. He glanced down and saw that, though slightly ruffled, his clothes were effectively untarnished - the answer came to him then and he smirked despite the pain as he painfully made his way upright. The Impervius Charm he'd placed on himself to protect from S.H.I.E.L.D. darts: he'd never removed it. It had repelled one solid hit, not entirely, but enough to survive.

The Hulk still stood in the same place, fist extended, curious expression on its face as it stared at Harry. Slow, steady strides brought it closer, and Harry gulped as he quickly placed another Shield Charm, though he wasn't sure if it would be effective. Staring down on him with a look remarkably devoid of malice, the creature turned away and gazed into the sky. For several moments Harry considered the possibility that the Hulk was debating whether he should kill - then Harry realized with great relief that the beast was slowly shrinking, its brutish features melted back into the familiar face of Bruce Banner who was smiling widely from the barrage of Cheering Charms. Fury was muttering something that Harry barely caught, but it sounded enthusiastic. He idly wondered how many descriptions like 'teleporter' and 'telekinetic' he would be given before they finally settled on something more descriptive. He wondered if they'd end up with wizard.

"Are you alright, now?" Harry asked Bruce as the man groaned softly, the last of the green vanishing from his skin. The man stared at him slightly groggily, blinking slowly. Harry shook him again. "Banner?  _Bruce_? Blimey, I really should've been more careful with that one…"

"I'm – I'm okay," Bruce said, finally, as he slowly recovered, huge grin still stretched on his face. "Did... you do dose me with something? I feel... strange."

"It'll pass." Harry assured, gingerly holding his left wrist away from his body - between that and his ribs, which felt like a freight train had run into them (it was probably about the same amount of force, Harry figured) he was glad the battle was over. "I'll be honest,  _that thing_ wasn't quite what I was expecting when you went on about your whole inner darkness." He rubbed his good hand through his hair and smiled. "I guess now I know why S.H.I.E.L.D. is so interested…"

Bruce nodded wearily, staying still for a few seconds, before his eyes snapped open and focused on Harry. "You! You stopped… the other guy. I remember… things. What…  _what did you do_?"

"We'll talk about that later; just keep it to yourself for now," Harry answered evasively, wincing as he turned to glance nervously around the wasteland that their surroundings had been turned into. "We both have our secrets. Right now, we have to get out of here before people come looking for what tore down half a mile of the forest."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "You can't just shrug me off like that - the  _other guy_  chose to stop fighting.  _What made him stop_?" Harry doubted that it had actually been the Cheering Charms that ended the fight; that last hit from the Hulk was stronger than any of them, and it had already been under their influence, then. Pondering on the issue, he glanced around.

He noticed what he was looking for, far in the distance: Barely visible over the horizon was a helicopter. S.H.I.E.L.D. was still keeping an eye on things, then; he wasn't the least bit surprised. Harry was at least happy they weren't shooting at him anymore. He wondered what the inevitable meeting with Director Fury would be like. "Everyone survived, Banner – just be happy about that. We'll..."

"…We'll talk about that later," Bruce filled in with a chuckle; he blinked in consternation. "Are you  _sure_  you didn't dose me?"


	11. Fury

" _I just lost the signal."_

" _I should've predicted as much."_ Fury answered.

Harry smiled as he turned down his listening charm's volume, surreptitiously slipping his wand back in his pocket before he sat down. The  _Muffliato_ would do its job and conceal conversation in the area, he was sure, even with radio and video broadcasts; it was surprising how often he returned to those spells he'd learned in the Half-Blood Prince's book.

He lazily looked around the cabin he sat in; the small airplane that S.H.I.E.L.D. had arranged for him was not nearly as luxurious as Tony's private one had been, but it was still a lot better than the international jet to Afghanistan. An uncomfortable-looking Banner sat across from him, staring out of his small window, occasionally glancing nervously his way.

Harry reached into his bag, pulling out a pair of small rectangular objects with quite a bit of caution; Banner looked on curiously as he picked one up and wiped dust from its surface. He hadn't thought about trying this in a week; the longest, so far. Harry knew it was probably a lost cause, but he couldn't help it. He glanced at his fellow passenger briefly, but with all the magic that man had already gleaned up close and personal, this wouldn't change much. "Hermione Granger," he proclaimed. There was total silence. Harry sighed and tried again: "Hermione Granger!" After the third time he put the down.

Banner looked mildly confused. "I'm sorry, but what are you doing?"

Harry looked over at Banner with a shrug. "I'm trying to get in touch with some of my friends; I've been trying it for a while. I guess I'm out of range of even one of these."

"You're trying to contact someone… with a mirror?" Banner wondered, perplexed. "Are you trying to figure out who's the fairest in the land?"

Harry stared. "You've seen me stop one of the green guy's punches in mid-air, and it's a  _mirror_  that makes you sceptical of my abilities?"

"…It's a mirror," Banner said slowly. "How's something like that supposed to contact someone?"

"Magic," Harry answered dully, Banner rolled his eyes, gazing outside again.

"I don't know how you got me to agree to this, you know," Banner commented, and he sighed. "I shouldn't be here, you must know that. I'd just like to live my life in peace. Going back to the United States is most definitely not a good idea. It's a matter of time before  _others_  learn where I am and unlike you, I don't have any wish to reconcile myself with any of these people."

"This isn't just about me," Harry replied. "I'd hoped that a meeting with Fury wouldn't be necessary at all. Unfortunately, things have gotten out of hand. I'll have to find some degree of compromise with them at least, if only so I can live without constantly being hounded again."

Harry frowned, thinking of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s actions in the last few weeks. He'd not taken the organization very seriously since he'd first suspected Natasha's ulterior motives. He had to admit, he still had trouble with really considering them a threat. Fury had concentrated quite a bit of manpower and attention to keep him under surveillance: In the name of international security, he'd become remarkably persistent. S.H.I.E.L.D. had somehow managed to create a mountain out of a molehill and the paranoia ran deep, it seemed. Harry glanced at Banner and felt sorry he'd even brought him to their attention again. His particular ability certainly wouldn't put the organization's mind at ease any more than his magic did.

"I don't have to be there, do I?" Banner asked after a while.

"I'll meet Fury myself, don't worry." Harry said. "I guarantee your safety, for now. We both know that they don't have the ability to contain you. I'm present as well, so they don't have a chance even if they tried it. You might not be used to the idea, but we have some  _leverage_ here." Harry smiled widely. "It helps that the whole incident back in Brazil was essentially their fault to begin with; they owe us."

Banner snorted. "You are as much to blame as they are,  _Harry,_ if not more so! You, who just decided to go bother a person that even international spy agencies fear to get near.I don't even know who you are, either!" He sighed in exasperation as Harry looked away. "Could you please stop being the mysterious nobody for a minute? You won't tell me anything about what you did back there; stopping the  _other guy_. I  _need_  to know what you did so I can find a way to replicate it. You just drop out of the sky one afternoon and wholly destroyed what little stability I had in life. I hope you're proud of yourself!"

"No, just... I'm a bit lost, I guess."

"Being lost in life – that's hardly anything strange," Banner said. "I'd say that you need something new. I don't know what you did before, but I figure you could make a difference." Banner smirked. "You could consider something more honourable than playing around with spy agencies, at least."

Harry didn't answer. He'd been drifting for months now – no real goal, no objective. He didn't really know what he could do that wouldn't bring him right back to the place he'd first left. Inevitably reality conspired to put him back into volatile situations, and just as inevitably, he'd be right in the thick of things, spells flying. Was there anything he could do that wouldn't put him back where he came from, back on the lonely pedestal of the 'hero'?

After a long silence, Banner spoke up again. "… Can you tell me  _anything?_ " Harry winced at the slightly desperate tone. "The reason I agreed to go along with this nonsense is that  _I want answers_. You could start to make up for your mistake in including me, at least."

Harry looked outside for a while, and then nodded. "You must understand that I can't tell you everything. I'm not comfortable relating much of my life's story to anyone, as it's irrelevant to the present day." He stared for a minute. "You've doubtlessly already deduced that I'm special. Around here they call me a Superhuman or Metahuman, it seems; that's what I hear from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Director, anyway. I'm sure they call you the same."

"I don't doubt it."

"I was born like that, and didn't know about it for the longest time," Harry continued. "I found about all that stuff in my early teens, and from that point up until a few months ago I lived a, shall we say, sheltered life." He glanced at Banner uncertainly. "There were others; there was a school, too. I spent my teenage years isolated from the world and when that was over, I lived for a long time without really interacting with normal people at all. I suppose that's how I ended up dismissing them as unthreatening."

"There's a community?" Banner asked, sounding mildly hopeful. "Do you suppose they could..."

"I'm the only one," Harry responded shortly. "I left home, if you will, and there's not really a way to get back; not without doing things I'd prefer not to repeat." He gave a friendly smile. "For better or worse, you'll have to make do with me. I'm unique, like you – and the, eh, green thing."

"I call it the other guy," Banner said. "Perhaps I'll tell you that story sometime."

Harry noted that they were crossing over land again. They were getting back over the U.S. "What I did… I don't know how much you saw, but it's part of the … skill set that I have. That last thing I did, I know it counteracted some of the beast's rage. Perhaps its mind, unclouded by that madness, chose to return control to you by itself." Harry rubbed his ribs and winced slightly. Even with a potion or two, it had taken the better part of a night to heal the broken ones, and they were still sore. Luckily he'd managed to avoid very close scrutiny on Banner's part. "I can speculate on whether or not it recognized something in me that made it stop. Perhaps it knew that I wasn't trying to truly harm it, or it simply realized that you and I were not enemies."

"Don't weasel out of it,  _Harry_ ; whatever you did, it worked." Banner noted. "Even if this is something only you can do, I  _need_ that kind of help. If you can keep  _him_  from emerging, then I…" He stopped, breathing in and out calmly. "I can't risk being in public as I am. If something were to happen, if someone were to find me, who knows what I might do? But you… you could stop it. You could calm me down in the same way that you calmed  _it_  down."

Harry gave a half-hearted nod, wondering if that would actually work; he tried to ignore the self-recriminations still running around in his mind in favour of good old magical theory. Cheering Charms would probably be more effective on Banner than they were on the Hulk, given that unlike the transformed state, Banner was just a man. Of course, though laughter and cheer were great ways to decrease the beast's mindless rage and allow for some degree of rationality, it wouldn't really remove stress – in a way, it would add its own. He wasn't sure if it would do much of anything to stop the change.

Unfortunately, Harry didn't know any calming spells; generally potions were used for such things since they acted for a longer period of time, and he'd never really had a reason to study alternatives. He suddenly felt very glad he'd taken his spell books along. "I'll have to think about what would work. I suppose as long as you're near me it'd probably be fine, but something more long-term would be better." Harry frowned at the thought; perhaps an enchanted item of clothing would suffice.

"The… flashes," Banner said after a few moments. "Flashes of silver and gold, gouts of flame. That's mostly what I remember. A solid but transparent wall in the middle of the air and invisible swords, as well." He rubbed the back of his head. "The delirium at the end… I admit, I can't remember anything after you hit the other guy with that until you shook me back to attention."

"You've seen more than most – I keep that stuff pretty private for many reasons." Harry sighed. "Not private enough, or I wouldn't even have S.H.I.E.L.D. chasing me down."

"At least you can teleport – I just… wreck things."

"You nearly wrecked me, big guy – you've got nothing to whine about." Harry joked.

Banner smirked, staring outside silently. Harry's mind strayed from the topic of Banner, and back to the uncomfortable realization that he'd likely soon be talking to the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. He could manage little more than general annoyance with the man coupled with mild resentment over what his organization had done in Brazil. He'd been listening in on Fury for days now and what he'd learned hadn't really changed things. S.H.I.E.L.D. was overly interested in too many things that were vaguely considered potentially threatening, and if what they did regarding him was any indication, they weren't subtle about reining in those who strayed from what they considered to be acceptable. On the other hand, Fury had remarkable loyalty to his country and his subordinates, something Harry could understand quite well.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was a liability now, Harry realized. Fury had seen what happened with Banner, including from above, as Harry had deduced from his comments; he knew at least a few of his spells, even if they were perhaps unaware of how he'd achieved their effects. Even if there was no Statute of Secrecy, Harry was uncomfortably aware that such information could get to the wrong Muggles that might try to harm him, and there was clearly the technology to pull something like that off if the green guy was anything to go by. One way or another, he'd have to strike an accord.

Harry looked outside again as the land moved by – it would be probably be less than half an hour until the plane reached the airport. He cancelled the  _Muffliato_  with a quick jab from inside his pocket and with a pop the small television embedded in the side suddenly had an image again. Banner gave him a suspicious glance, and Harry smirked.

" _An unidentified flying object was spotted in the Los Angeles sky, about half an hour ago. It moved at considerable speed before descending to street level; several eye witnesses report seeing a large metallic shape that resembled a human being which nearly crashed into several cars before taking off again. Amateur recording are forthcoming."_

"I wonder if Tony saw this?" Harry wondered as he muted the television and smiled at Banner. "I bet he's already trying to build his own."

* * *

"Director."

"Agent Coulson," Fury responded with a nod, coming to a stop as he noticed that the other looked out of sorts.

"Sir – with all due respect, I appreciate that you'd like to take this task personally, but," Coulson hesitated. "Someone who can hold his own against  _Banner…_  even if we bring a small army, I don't see how we could ensure your safety. A long-distance conversation would be far wiser."

"Maybe," Fury admitted. "Still, I'm going. The danger you describe is already here; that's the problem with teleporting." Fury sighed. "The meeting's location has already been prepared." He paused for a moment. "This'll be interesting…"

Coulson blinked. "Hmmm?"

"Nothing," Fury answered. "Coulson – please keep an eye on Mr. Stark's latest antics, will you? I've seen the news; I can make some educated guesses."

"Yes, sir." Coulson answered. He paused, curiously glancing at Fury. "What do I say to Agent Romanoff and the other three? Did the Brazilian events count as a victory, or as a failure?"

"I'll get back to you on that."

* * *

Standing outside the doors, Harry suddenly felt nervous, but steeled himself. The drive from the airport had been a tense one; the driver hadn't said a word and neither of his passengers had tried to make small-talk. Ten minutes before they were supposed to arrive the windows suddenly went dark, and for a split second, Harry had felt dread creep up on him in the suddenly tiny space; he observed with slight amusement that it'd been years since he'd even really thought about his cupboard under the stairs.

Whatever place they had arrived at then was completely closed off; a secret S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, not the Helicarrier. It was the only compromise that Fury had even considered when Harry had questioned whether the Helicarrier really counted as neutral ground. He wasn't sure if the new location was any better, but at least he could apparate away easily enough.

He walked into the large room at the front of the house with some trepidation; the stately manor room was nicely decorated with floral motifs and one wall was practically entirely covered by windows which gave a grand view of gardens and the great fountain directly behind it; Harry briefly wondered whether or not it was real or just an illusion, before discarding it as irrelevant. Standing before the spectacle, with his back turned, stood Nick Fury, the thin strap of his eye patch visible.

"Mr. Fury," Harry said as he stepped closer. He stared for a few moments at the magnificent sight outside, before focusing on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Director, who turned around to meet his gaze. The edge of a bulletproof vest was visible under his all-black attire, and he was wearing the familiar dark cloak he'd worn on the Helicarrier. "We finally meet face to face, then. I'd almost expected that you'd shoot me the moment I walked in the room, honestly."

The tall man glared with his one eye, though he made no move for the clearly visible pistol strapped to his thigh. He merely studied Harry, as if trying to figure out a puzzle. "I'm sure you already know this, but I am Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. I make sure that when we all go to sleep at night, we still wake up in the land of the free." He turned to face Harry with undisguised suspicion. "You… are a mystery. I don't like mysteries."

"I do wonder what you're going to do about it when I don't tell you anything," Harry commented. "You're not really going to get anywhere by trying to intimidate me, you know."

"Nothing that a forty-five calibre injection to the leg won't fix." Fury said grimly. "You've been causing us a lot of trouble, you know that?"

"I try," Harry said with a smile, dropping with a sigh onto one of the soft leather benches that flanked the walls. Fury warily took a seat directly across the table as Harry cleared his throat. "From my perspective, Director, I believe the stir you claim I've caused is one of  _your own making._  I certainly didn't set out to be of particular note. In fact, had you left me alone, there wouldn't even be a mess that needed fixing; I'd probably be trying out China's restaurants. Unfortunately, you had to stick your sizable nose into things."

Fury scoffed. "Much as we'd wish to, we don't have  _psychics,_ so we have to go with the available data. S.H.I.E.L.D. has honourable intentions, even when we do covert activities. As our name implies, we are about national security, not attacking people."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You have been tasking people to follow me since the day I arrived in Afghanistan. I know that for a fact. I tolerated the intrusion, then, and it helped that Natasha's quite fun to be with." He smiled. "S.H.I.E.L.D. forces under your direction were instructed to illegally track and monitor me. That is not something which promotes trust as I had certainly not done anything to warrant such suspicion."

"We cannot let potential enemies run loose with unknown superhuman abilities; who knows what could happen? Natasha was already in Afghanistan when you arrived, which is one reason she accepted the assignment. It was merely surveillance at the time." He stared out the window, looking at the stars slowly becoming visible as dusk settled. "You are not the first  _exceptional_ person to appear on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar, and others like that have not generally been amenable to working with us. More than a few have had radical ideas about the future of the world, often placing themselves in the role of God-King." Fury grimaced. "It should be obvious that we cannot tolerate such excesses, and that we have to try and nip them in the bud. Travelling to one of the most volatile regions on the planet did nothing to ease our minds about you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I spent three months in that country, and I didn't even whine about people constantly following me around, let alone attempt to take over the world. Indeed, it wasn't until after your organization decided it was a good idea to infect me with tiny machines here in the States that I became less than perfectly tolerant of your trespasses." Harry turned to Fury with an exasperated expression. "I decided I'd leave a completely honest note in your possession to make it clear that I don't appreciate what you were doing, and you go and grossly misinterpret every word I said! You paranoid M- bastards just went right ahead and sent someone to shoot me!"

"You broke into a secret military installation with top rate security," Fury pointed out. "Honourable or not, that was an illegal act and you can't claim you were unaware. Regardless of your intentions, you must've realized that you weren't making things any better for yourself."

"Yes, yes, remind me of my shortcomings again," Harry mumbled, twitching. "It's been nearly four months now, I'd figure you would've gotten that I'm not evil at some point. You're worse than Mad-Eye, you know that?"

"Who?"

"Mad-Eye. He's like you except whiter, madder and uglier," Harry muttered, grimacing as he thought back to the old Auror – he'd been frequently reminded of his loss during Auror training, when his name came up, a lot. One of the consequences of being a very long-lived and notorious dark wizard fighter. "Now – despite the fact that I have  _far_ more to complain about with regards to S.H.I.E.L.D. actions than the other way around, I'd like to know what the hell trying to drug and kidnap me was all about, when a talk like this is exactly what I requested. You weren't aware that there was such a thing as asking nicely? I bet it isn't even in the phrasebook, is it?"

Fury ignored the jibe. "I had planned to have a meeting, eventually, before you chose to infiltrate my Helicarrier. Even if they do not work for us, extraordinary people like you are registered; with the increasing numbers in recent years that fall under that distinction, it has become imperative to do so, and to keep track of their location. Dr. Banner and yourself are two of the most potentially dangerous of such people that we currently have on record – certainly after Brazil's display – and both of you function outside S.H.I.E.L.D. control. In fact, you in particular have a tendency to vanish entirely. That cannot continue."

"So, what, you're going to force me to sit down and sign some papers? " Harry asked glibly. "Are you going to try shooting me again?"

Fury smirked. "No, I'm actually offering you a paying job. Free training. Room, board, food. A career. Travel."

Harry blinked. "What's the catch?"

"The catch," Fury repeated, and he smiled thinly. "Well, you basically do whatever I say for the rest of your life."

"Oh, is that all?" Harry said faintly, shaking his head.

"You'd be joining the single most powerful, most important organization on the planet Earth. What I want is an official agreement to lend your talents to scientific study by S.H.I.E.L.D. researchers." Fury steepled his fingers, gazing in contemplation at Harry. "Would that be acceptable?"

"Hardly," Harry scoffed, standing up and walking to the window. "Some secrets are mine to keep and to share. I doubt that will ever be anyone but my closest friends, and I'm afraid you are not among them. If you wish to force the issue, as you've alluded to, I warn you that I won't take such things lightly. If you wish to know what I can do, you'd better be on your best behaviour from here on." He smirked as Fury narrowed his eye.

"Your abilities are far too valuable not to use, or to risk falling into enemy hands," Fury argued. "S.H.I.E.L.D. needs people like you. You have demonstrated the ability to subdue – "

Harry scowled, cutting Fury off. " _That_  is between Dr. Banner and me, and no concern of yours," Harry said sharply. "He has come with me at my request. I owe him a debt, and I intend to repay it; he is not here to be interrogated by S.H.I.E.L.D. or anyone else. Was it not one of your men that cowardly shot him in the back which led to my interference in the first place?"

"The shooter will be reprimanded for his actions," Fury replied amiably. "It was just one man."

"One man that nearly got his entire team killed by the terror he awakened, and who had to be rescued by an outsider. Hardly a stellar example of S.H.I.E.L.D. competency, I must say." Harry watched as Fury walked up to him, scowling. Harry raised an eyebrow. "You have made it very difficult for me to trust your organization, Director. I wouldn't dream of joining it." He glared at Fury, hesitating for a moment. "Director - if I truly wanted to know if you could be trusted, I have ways to find that out. I may change my mind on using them, if you continue to pursue me."

"Is that a threat?"

"Yes." Harry ignored the man's subtle move for his gun. "A threat for a threat, I'd say. You will continue to hound me, perhaps try to capture me again, merely for the potential military gain of my abilities. You may sugar-coat it, but that is what would happen. You are already aware of some of what I can do - what you would call teleportation, and telekinesis." Harry smirked as Fury narrowed his eyes at hearing his own words parroted back to him. "The only reason I have not used force to determine what you are striving for, is that I find the methods to do so distasteful on many levels. I'm usually very laid-back, but you should be very glad that I am not your enemy."

"Do you expect me to bow to threats or demands?"

Harry shook his head tiredly. "No. I expect you to acknowledge that I am not a criminal for you to persecute, as you seem to have concluded, or a tool to use. If you wish to see me as a potential ally or want me to lend a hand at all – for research or otherwise – then a little respect is not uncalled for. I have not started any violence or conflict against  _anyone_  since S.H.I.E.L.D. started tailing me, and I'm not liable to change that. Acknowledge that, at least. I'm not the bloody enemy."

Fury stared for a long moment, nodding reluctantly. "Granted. The fact that you so easily threaten to turn against us is a concern, though. A significant concern."

"Deal with it." Harry frowned. "Now, I am willing to give you, shall we say, a second chance to gain some trust. I'll need some guarantees, though." He waved off Fury's response. "First: Banner is free to go. I will take personal responsibility to get him somewhere safe, from you or anyone. Second: If you request my help with anything, I can refuse. I will not do anything morally reprehensible, no matter how important you Muggles think it might be."

"…Muggles?"

Harry didn't answer the query. "Third…" He paused. "You don't suppose I could hop by the Helicarrier sometime?"

"I don't think I can stop you," Fury answered, scowling fiercely.

"Right – Fourth, about those uniforms of yours…"

"Stop that." he barked. "The only reason that the Army's not currently knocking on our door is that I have chosen to leave Banner out of things. I've omitted any mention of his transport here, and explicitly avoided entangling this any further. You should be grateful!" He scowled darkly. "You must understand, I cannot risk having people like you without supervision; it would ruin the entire purpose of our organization if we did. If you're not joining S.H.I.E.L.D. that leaves only one option that does not include your ass ending in the nearest internment camp under a constant sedative drip."

Harry twitched as the man stepped forward menacingly. "…And that would be?"

"You may think you're hot shit, but I've been in this job for longer than you have been alive, and I'm telling you this:  _Don't fuck with S.H.I.E.L.D._  Since we cannot afford to let you be a loose cannon, it will have to be a case-to-case basis employment. Nothing. Else." Fury shrugged. "It's not a bad deal, all things considered."

Harry grimaced, wondering how he could get around this one without trouble. The look on Fury's face didn't exactly fill him with hope.

Fury frowned impatiently. "Tell me,  _Harry._  If people were in danger, if the world needed your help, and you knew about it - would you be there?"

"Of course." Harry didn't have to think twice.

"Then  _help us._ " Fury intoned. "You may disagree with our methods, but I doubt you disagree with our goals. We form the shield between the peaceful nations of the world, and everything else that is out there. If you can find even an ounce of honour in that heart of yours, at least give it a chance."

"Case-by-case, then?" Harry asked , frowning. "I suppose that's something to work from - I will choose if I accept them, correct?"

Fury nodded. "Can I count you in?"

* * *

"I'm back," Harry announced, dropping himself like a sack of potatoes onto the couch. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s waiting room was almost as nicely-decorated as the Gryffindor Common Room, and the seats were, if anything, even nicer. Of course, this was just peanuts compared to the bigger stuff like the Helicarrier, which was completely up to date.

"That took a long time," Banner observed, blinking at the black attire Harry was wearing. "Where'd you get the new get-up?"

"Ah, I sort of demanded it," Harry said cheekily. "You know, the old stuff was getting awfully patchy after months in the desert and I hadn't properly washed it in weeks. I figured with all the people running around in uniforms, there had to be something in my size around here."

Banner shook his head. "You're with S.H.I.E.L.D. now, then?"

"Oh, hell no." Harry muttered. "I guess I count as a … sort of consultant. I'm going wherever I want, and if they really need me, they call. They gave me a mobile phone, though I don't know what they hope to accomplish with that. I don't work well with these things." He grimaced. "I gave Fury his own mobile back… figured it'd be an olive branch. I didn't expect it to start emitting sparks or smoke; I think he was attached to the bloody thing by the look I received."

"You blew up his phone?" Banner asked, and he snorted. "That's why you wouldn't show it to me, isn't it?"

"It happens. Anyway, now that I do have a phone, I might as well use it for as long as I can." He pulled out the small black device, wondering how long it'd take before it started going weird. "You know how you need to find a place to stay, right?" Harry inquired. "I can give you a little head-start on that, at least."

"What do you mean?"

"I got them to lay off you, at least, so you should be good as far as S.H.I.E.L.D. is concerned. The Army doesn't know. You need a new identity, though – and I need a few days of uncomplicated rest." He flipped open his phone and quickly tapped in a few buttons. "I'm glad I memorized this one – anyway, I know just the guy. Trust me."

"Wait, you're not calling-"

"Hey to you too, Tony," Harry said and he smirked at Banner, who shook his head and groaned. "Tony? Speak up, I can barely understand you! Are you driving with the top down?"


	12. Triplicity

Harry stared after the car with mixed emotions, suddenly uncertain of how things would go from here. Yes, he'd managed to get an agreement with S.H.I.E.L.D. – sort of – but not much had been solved. If anything, Fury probably distrusted and disliked him more than before, forced as he was to make concessions given that there was precious little he could actually use to turn the issue his way. Really, the only thing the Director could rely on was a tentative hope that Harry would remain as non-violent as he'd been so far.

A consultant – it didn't even really have a definition. As far as Harry could tell it'd been something Fury had come up with as a compromise, right then and there; some way of tying him to the organization without requiring the many obligations that full employees were subject to. It was, in a way, a remarkably friendly gesture. Also a helpful one, Harry conceded – he'd actually get paid for his assistance, which would go a long way to making sure he'd no longer have to abuse the hospitality of others, as he'd been doing of late.

"So... now we're in the middle of nowhere," Banner commented, staring around himself with narrowed eyes and scratching his head. "Which way to the nearest third world country?"

Harry turned and shook his head in amusement. "Dr. Banner – I think that running off to some distant hidey-hole isn't really what you're after, is it? I already told you that I'd get you some new paperwork, and we're going there first. Then we'll see what we can do about that… other guy."

Banner nodded. "Please... just call me Bruce. As for travelling... We'd be crossing two or three states – I'm not sure which one we're in, honestly – that's not going to be easy with someone like  _me_. The army's got eyes and ears everywhere." Bruce shifted uncomfortably. "You have to realize that Stark supplies them with their guns; he's probably decided to turn me in the moment you stupidly mentioned me on the phone."

Harry snorted. "Tony and the army haven't been on speaking terms, lately. I think you're pretty safe as far as that's concerned. Now, I do have ways to travel quickly over large distances; I figured we could avoid the issue of people spotting us quite effectively." He rummaged through his bag and withdrew the object he was looking for.

"...Why are you holding a sock?"

Harry smirked. "Looks can be deceiving...  _Bruce_. I think you'll find it works just fine for my purposes." He dangled the slightly smelly piece of clothing before him. "I would've considered just – well, 'teleporting' as you call it, but I don't think you'd like to smash up Tony's place; it'd be rude. My way of transport is a bit... stressful. This is similar, but it should be a lot less taxing."

"...Should?"

Harry shrugged, calmly enchanting the sock. It glowed with a soft blue light for a few moments. "It's called a Portkey, though I'm not sure what people around here would describe it as. It's a bit of a ride, but it should be okay for our purposes. I think I'll be able to subdue your change if it does happen, so you shouldn't worry anyway."

"You  _think_!" Bruce blurted nervously, backing away.

Harry grabbed his hand. "Trust me."

Whatever uncomplimentary remark Bruce made was lost when, with a feeling like a jerk behind their navels, the two were whisked away in a kaleidoscopic spray of colours and sound.

* * *

"Director Fury, thank you for making time in your busy schedule to take this call," the low voice of an elderly man said. He towered over the room as a massive image on a television screen, though his face was obscured.

Fury sighed, glancing between him and the other members of the council. This was going to be one of  _those_ talks, he already knew. "You didn't leave me much choice. You want to help, then tell me what this is all about." Fury growled, staring at the screen with barely concealed annoyance. He leaned back in his chair, putting one leg on the desk in front of him impetuously. "There are things I should be doing. People to see, decisions to make."

"Yes – we have heard about your highly unorthodox pronouncement regarding the subject known as 'Harry'. We have severe concerns about diverting a significant amount of funds to support a vigilante, not to mention that he is a potentially highly volatile element." The man hesitated briefly. "There are other concerns: His interactions with other subjects of programs currently receiving S.H.I.E.L.D. funding may destabilize the whole system."

"…Other programs?"

"Stark is of no concern, but acquisition of his weapons technology definitely is. This rogue element has been known to interact with him, and may have been a reason for Stark's recent resolution to take his company out of the arms market. This Harry certainly has the sheer power to intimidate even such a highly-placed figure. We have no data on what exactly occurred in Afghanistan, after all."

A second figure spoke up. "Maintaining surveillance on Dr. Banner was similarly of little concern due to his apparent wish for anonymity, but once more interaction with your new 'consultant' has led him to return to U.S. soil and made the risk of future attacks much higher."

The first nodded. "Suffice to say that three such prominent and dangerous individuals are unpredictable enough on their own, but jointly… it could turn into a disaster. Supporting such ventures with S.H.I.E.L.D. funds instead of spending it on monitoring or preventing them is  _extremely_ unwise."

The third suddenly spoke up. "We appreciate your enthusiasm for attempting to bring 'Harry' into the fold, but your approach is misguided; he would control you, instead of you controlling him. We do not know the limits of his abilities, nor his allegiance, nor his origins. This Harry being a spy is considerably more likely than his claims to be a tourist, as earlier reports indicate. We cannot afford to supply a spy with the funds or access to S.H.I.E.L.D. bases to complete his plans."

Fury frowned. "I elected to go with a consultant position to determine precisely those things. We cannot prevent his visits to Stark or Banner, or his meddling in their affairs. What we can do is set him up against threats both national and foreign, to determine whether he will side with us or sabotage the attempts. Meanwhile, part of the funding we receive goes into determining the source of his abilities, and a possible counter. The results so far are… not promising, but we hope that building some trust may lead us to better prospects; Either his genuine allegiance – or a way to kill him."

"We are not comfortable with this turn of events, Director. This is looking remarkably like a resurrection of the -"

"Suck it up. S.H.I.E.L.D. will deal with 'Harry' and the others as it sees fit; if it is determined that he is a spy or a genuine danger, I will reconsider. We cannot contain him; we do not have that technology. We cannot easily kill him either, and retaliation could be disastrous. The only way we  _can_ reasonably act in this circumstance is by making some concessions. I don't like it, but that's the way things have to be."

"You will not be swayed?"

"Not by fear mongering, no. He's damn annoying and nigh-uncontrollable, but he hasn't killed anyone yet; he may still turn out to be a viable ally. I've given him one chance to prove himself, and I damn well hope he takes it."

* * *

Harry smiled awkwardly as Pepper opened the door and just stared for a moment. Water dripped out of his hair and off his clothes, and Harry winced as Bruce chuckled dryly. "Pepper – do you have some towels?"

She blinked owlishly as she took in the two thoroughly soaked men, one of which looked decidedly put off by the whole affair. Hesitating for a moment, she finally shook her head and sighed. "I won't even ask. Hold on for a minute."

Harry laughed softly as she quickly moved off, trying to wring out his jacket. The fact that Bruce had panicked considerably more than he'd anticipated had thrown off the Portkey a bit – only by a few dozen feet, but enough to deposit the two of them into Stark's splendidly decorated pond.

"Never. Again." Bruce said, followed by a deep breath as he wiped clumps of wet hair out of his face. "That was the calm method, you said? What's the other one like, torture?"

"I didn't really intend the whole landing bit, honestly," Harry admitted, blushing. "You were just so twitchy. Be glad I was there, I think if you'd gone green and remodelled Tony's garden, he might've gotten a bit irate."

Pepper returned with a tall pile of towels as the two bickered. Harry figured he could've just used a drying charm – he knew a few, but he believed trying to explain how they ended up in his pond was going to be tough enough without also having to explain how they got out of it without a drop of water ever touching them. Clearing his ears and wiping his face with one of the towels, he smiled at Pepper, who looked somewhere between amused and exasperated.

"You got here quickly," Pepper commented. "Tony warned me just half an hour ago that you'd be coming back. He said you wouldn't arrive for eight to ten hours, at the very least; you must've sped up your plans a lot. I'm afraid I don't have any coffee ready."

"We took the express," Harry tried. Drying his hair just made it messier than it already was, Harry realized, and he gave up on it. Bruce seemed somewhat amused; Harry wasn't sure if it was a side-effect of the cheering charms, or if he just looked like an idiot and nobody was telling him. If the former, well, at least those charms had managed to keep the man from bursting out of his skin right there. "Where is Tony, anyway?"

"Um… he's testing something," Pepper retorted. "I'll call him, tell him you've arrived. DON'T leak on the couches; they're way too expensive for that kind of treatment." She squinted at the second man. "I don't think Tony would appreciate you bringing new people in here, even if he does have this unusual tolerance for your nonsense…"

"Aw, come on, Pepper…" Harry whined. "Tony knows about him." He tried his best approximation of puppy-dog eyes. "Miss Pepper Potts – this is Dr. Bruce Banner, expert in numerous fields I don't even know the names of." The two quickly shook hands, though Pepper immediately grabbed a towel to dry off her own.

"You started the party without me?" someone said from above him; Harry blinked and looked up. Tony was peering over the edge of his roof with a curious expression, some kind of blowtorch clasped in his hand. "Well, if it isn't my knight in shining armour. Well, actually, now that I think about it... Yech, I just gave myself some awful mental images."

Harry groaned. "Tony…"

"Just… get in," Pepper said in exasperation. She turned to Tony. "What are you doing on the roof, anyway? Thought you were testing something in the lab? The roof's supposed to be a roof."

"I was down there… and up here. It was sort of a dispersed research project, you know." He gestured. "I was still in the house, anyway. Or on it."

"As long as you didn't smash another hole straight through it," Pepper muttered, dragging Harry and Banner along.

Harry followed the other two in and finally cast a mild drying charm on himself and Bruce, as it would not be nearly as noticeable now; he quickly slipped his wand away again. He had barely managed to fall down on his couch – closest to the windows, where he had an excellent view – when Tony descended the stairs, looking decidedly ruffled, with his clothes in disarray, smudges on his hands, and his hair resembling Harry's own. Bruce immediately stood again, blinking nervously.

Harry remained seated, waving lazily. "Hey, Tony. Judging by your looks, you must've reached the roof via the chimney, eh?"

"Something like that," Tony replied, shrugging. "I hadn't expected you here so soon – indeed, if my calculations are correct, you  _can't_ be here yet." He picked up a glass of wine from one of the side-tables; clearly he'd prepared for this, knowing exactly where Harry would take a seat. "You see – you used a telephone to contact me. I was curious where you were, given your unannounced and sudden departure – so I hacked into the GPS chip. Disabled it for you, hope you don't mind. What I found suggested convincingly that less than an hour ago, or more like forty minutes, you were more than a thousand miles away."

Harry scratched the back of his head in embarrassment; he wasn't really used to travelling actually taking a long time, and hadn't thought about it. He briefly considered obliviating the man right there, however annoying that might be to explain to Bruce. He had no idea how such a spell would affect him, and no desire to find out.

"I must inquire – how did you manage to get here at speeds higher than Mach 2? I'd be very interested." Tony smirked slightly. "Did you manage to procure the loyalty of yet another drove of donkeys?"

Harry stared at Tony for a long moment, glancing to Pepper and Bruce in turn. He really should've though that out better, he realized, as the three now focused their sceptical gazes on him; he'd explained none of it to Bruce, and he seemed no less interested. Finally, he sighed. "I… fine, but just you, Tony. I'm not getting even more people involved, that aren't already." He looked to Pepper. "If you don't mind, Pepper? It's not a slight to you…"

She shrugged. "Fine – I'll go see if that guy who's been calling all week has tried again; now's as good a time as any to return the favour, I think." She stood up and scowled at Harry. "Just make sure that your 'secrets' don't blast holes in this house, too, alright? It was a big enough mess trying to cover up that one." She gestured to a tarp-covered section of floor surrounded by a low fence; a similar tarp covered a hole in the ceiling directly above it.

Harry sighed as the others turned back towards him. He might as well get the obvious bit out of the way. "I can teleport."

Tony blinked, taking a few moments to formulate a response. "Well… that's definitely one of the top three coolest things anyone's told me this year that might actually be true. How do you do it? How does it work?"

"Some type of matter-transference via a wormhole, from what I could determine," Bruce supplied. "That's the best theory I could come up with, from the brief time I was exposed to it. Quite disorienting, actually, and it seems responsive to movement while traveling. The instability must be the result of vibrations in the –"

"Space-time continuum? I figured it'd work like that, but how would one access something like that with modern technology, let alone without gigantic machines? You'd need some kind of incredible power-source and an existing rift, I'd figure, or perhaps fusion could be used to…"

"I can't follow a word of this," Harry noted, staring between the two scientists, who turned to him with identical looks of annoyance. Harry, for a moment, felt like he was a specimen under a microscope.

"Teleportation. Well, that just ups the intrigue factor by a few orders of magnitude," Tony said after a moment, prodding Harry in the shoulder. "You're not some kind of alien, are you? I never figured you for one… Then again, haven't discovered any authentic ones, so what can one compare to?" He glanced at Bruce. "You took Banner here along on the trip, eh? Not afraid of another Seth Brundle event? Heck, considering who he is, I'd be afraid to know what you turned into – and quite interested."

Tony stepped over to Bruce before Harry could formulate a response, prodding him in the shoulder too, raising an eyebrow. "So, you're  _that_ guy. You know, I had a bit of trouble finding you in the system; almost as if someone wanted to keep me out. Read the most interesting things when I got in, though…"

"So, you know about that…" Bruce observed, rubbing his shoulder. "It's like an open secret, it seems."

"Yes, well, until you tried to bash me into the ground with a giant green fist, I didn't know anything, so it's not all our fault," Harry muttered.

Stark offered his hand. "Dr. Banner, it's a pleasure to meet you. I admit, I haven't had time to study your work, but I'm sure it's quite excellent." He nodded. "Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries. I also occasionally like to wreck things and blow them up, so we have some things in common."

"…Pleasure to meet you." The two shook hands and Harry couldn't help but grin; it lasted until the two of them turned to him again, their eyes focussed on him. Bruce blinked and glanced back at Tony. "How did you find out about me, anyway? You've only had about forty-five minutes…"

"Ah, when our resident Q, here, let your name slip, I hacked into the army's database - easy, actually, when you're responsible for coding half the software they use - I downloaded all they had on you, and let me tell you that it was a bit of an eye-opener!"

_"I do hope you don't mind,"_  Jarvis intoned from what seemed like everywhere.  _"I removed the last known coordinates from their databanks; the army will have some trouble reacquiring their target."_

"Thank you, Jarvis," Tony said distractedly. He turned to Harry with narrowed eyes. "So, Harry, you know what else I found while I was looking for information on Dr. Banner here? It's the most interesting thing; there I was, reading his file, and - well, what do you know - your name pops up." He steepled his fingers. "Subject  _Scotty_ : Someone at the army clearly has a sense of humour. Can you guess what I found in there?"

Harry stared nervously. "…The army knows about me?"

"Oh, a little more than just that," Tony responded pointedly, striding over to a cabinet and extracting a small laptop. "You see, it seems that your particular file has been very active lately, and it's got the most interesting video…" He flipped open the computer and hit a few buttons, finally turning its screen towards them. Bruce gasped, Harry just closed his eyes and groaned.

The image was blurry and shuddering slightly, but the contents were clear: In a partially destroyed section of rainforest, a massive green arm glanced off what appeared to be thing air. Harry stood his ground, one hand raised before him. Four other figures retreated as repeated invisible shields kept the creature at bay.

Harry shook his head tiredly. "…Bugger. I hate cameras."

Tony closed the screen. "Now, I think you'll agree that is a little more than teleportation. In fact, I'd almost go so far as say that it's a  _lot_  more than teleportation, and you've been holding out on me." He took a sip and shrugged. "Now, I'd suspected you were weird since Afghanistan – correction, I knew you were weird – but this is a little beyond even my considerable pay grade. I don't get to say that very often."

"You already knew about…?"

"Oh, of course." Tony dropped down onto the couch with a sigh. "You know how you found me out in the desert? You were sweating like a pig, but for some reason, you'd managed to avoid dehydration entirely. Oh, you had water - but only two entirely full water skins. Nobody would throw away an empty one, and you had no place to attach a third…"

"You are observant." Harry noted with a sigh.

"So they tell me. Then there's the transport thing, of course." He paused for a moment. "Wait, does that mean you actually scattered my atoms in a thousand directions and reassembled me somewhere else after transporting via a data-stream? That is remarkable. Huh. I think I need to read up on Theseus and his ship."

Banner snorted; Harry thought he remembered hearing about that from Hermione, but before he got it, Tony had already continued talking.

"Of course, after  _that_  you managed to fetch me fresh sandwiches in the middle of the Afghan desert, which was the clincher. It was only slightly less unlikely than you walking in with a cheeseburger, to be honest. If you'd done that, I'd probably have given you my left kidney and converted to whatever religion you might've founded."

Harry groaned. "Now you're just making me look like an idiot."

Tony shrugged. "Suffice to say, you weren't nearly as good as you thought you were. Now…" He suddenly looked serious. "What are you? Who are you working for? What were you doing out there, rescuing me?"

Harry realized that those weren't bad questions. "I… actually did find you by accident," Harry said tiredly, answering the easiest question first. "I was honest about that, believe me. I was flying by and-"

Bruce gasped. "Hold on, fly? You can  _fly_?"

Harry ignored him. "I smelled smoke, and it turned out to be that pile of weapons you blew to smithereens in that cave you were trapped at for months. I spotted you nearby, trudging through the desert and looking dead on your feet... I couldn't just leave you there."

"So you saved me out of the goodness of your heart, did you?" Tony summarized. "Huh."

"You're taking the flying thing awfully well," Banner commented, as he glanced at Tony with wide eyes.

Tony shrugged. "I've seen stranger things. Though, admittedly… I've never had my life saved by a flying, teleporting, force field-generating alien before."

"I'm not an alien," Harry muttered. He thought for a moment on whether or not travel to other realities counted. "I'm just… not from around here."

"See? Alien. Look it up in the dictionary." Tony quipped. "Now, even if I take you at your word there – and damn it, it'd be really awesome if it was true – you still skipped the other question, which is probably more important. Who do you work for?"

"…Then, or now?"

"You found a job? Good on you!" Tony said, earning him an annoyed glare. "Well... Both, please."

Harry nodded. "Back then, nobody. I was sort of on vacation, after a fashion. The desert was a good place to go where nobody could bother me, where there was nobody to give me a ticket for doing stuff that normal people can't." He smiled ruefully. "I hadn't intended Afghanistan, but that's where I ended up."

"Well, I can honestly say I'm glad you picked the worst vacation destination available."

"Well, as for the current situation… that is where Bruce comes in. I got into a bit of a… mess… with a … well, I'll just say it, a spy organization that apparently caught me on video." Harry winced at the look he got. "They taped things they shouldn't have, and got interested."

Tony glanced at his laptop, eyebrow raised.

"No, that's recent; this was a while ago. They sent people after me, and I managed to basically avoid them. They weren't ready to approach me, anyway – similar to Bruce, I suppose. When I got to the U.S. though, they got a little more insistent, and tried to put tracking devices on me. I retaliated, and it sort of spiralled out of control from there…"

"He came to find me, in the middle of the Brazilian jungle," Bruce cut in, gesturing to the laptop. "I was hiding there - I guess you know why. He actually apologized for dropping in on me like that, but the S.H.I.E.L.D. folks weren't very accommodating afterwards, and you saw what happened."

"S.H.I.E.L.D." Tony repeated, narrowing his eyes. "Where do I recognize that from? Wish I had Pepper here now, she's like my personal memory card for that sort of thing." Suddenly he blinked and sat up. "Ah. Them. Damn."

"They're covert military intelligence, and more besides," Bruce added. "They were involved in the experiment, though I've never figured out how large their role really was." He glanced at Tony knowingly; Harry wasn't entirely sure what that even meant. "After the mess in Brazil was over, Harry forced a sort of compromise with the organization."

Tony whistled. "So… what now?"

"I'm a new freelance consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D." Harry said, smiling as he tapped the unmarked, black uniform he wore under his clothes. "I think they're scared that I might start blowing people up any moment now, so they're trying to get in my good graces as best they can. I know Fury was gritting his teeth by the end – that's the Director – and he really doesn't like me. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s also kind of nervous about you two, and your connection to me. They're especially worried about what the three of us together might do. I know that much; I've been listening in."

Bruce started. "What?"

"Well, I'm not just going to take their word for it and believe they'll leave me be," Harry said dryly. "If they're going to send another team after me or you, I want to know about it. You see, as long as I give them the impression that I'm basically in control of you two, they're not going to try much – they're far too worried I'll turn out to be a bad guy, and failing an assassination attempt would basically be the worst thing that could happen. I believe they're afraid that between the brains and power you two possess, and my abilities, we might actually be a serious threat."

"Taking over the world, eh?" Tony commented. "Do you suppose we would mandate that everyone buys from my company? Because that would be really helpful to get me out of some trouble with Obi..."

"Honestly, I'm hoping I can spend a few days without any world-destroying threats, from us or anyone else, so I'll go fix up my guest room." He gestured to Bruce. "I hope you can arrange the big guy's new identity, and I'll see to it that he gets somewhere safe where he won't get hassled by the military." He turned to Bruce with an apologetic expression. "I know that you'd prefer to just leave right away, but I think after that near-change you had earlier, going by normal means is probably the safest. I'm sure that Stark could arrange a nice ride."

"You spend my money almost as easily as I do," Tony muttered, rolling his eyes, as Bruce headed up the stairs, to find an empty room and stash his few belongings." "Harry – this whole teleporting Jedi alien thing; you'll let me test it, right? I want to see what you're using to do this." He paused briefly. "Purely scientific interest, of course. It's not just childlike enthusiasm, I swear!"

"We'll see. If you try to dissect me, I'll stick you to the ceiling and leave you till morning."

"…I'll show you what I'm working on, if you help me?" Tony tried, smirking.

Harry didn't respond. He was about to head after Bruce, when Tony called. "Stop. Hold on, Harry."

Harry turned back; he blinked at the dead-serious expression on the other man's face. "Yes?"

"Listen..." Tony looked away, frowning. "I think things are going to get really ugly, really soon. When the inevitable blow-up happens, can I count on you?"

"...What brought this on?"

Tony turned away entirely. "Call it intuition, if you wish. I don't know what the hell you are, but if you can keep that thing in Banner under control and you actually give a damn about the people around here, you can make a difference. I'm ready for war, any time, should it be needed - are you?"

Harry sighed, and he could scarcely remember a time he hadn't been fighting. "I was born for it."

* * *

"…That took a while."

Fury nodded. "They had a lot to say."

"Anything worth repeating?" Agent Coulson asked as he quickly followed Fury towards the bridge.

"Not in polite company."

"So… what do we do?"

"We keep doing what we're doing, and tell them that we're doing what they want us to be doing." Fury smirked. "You can figure out how. Cook the books, get creative?"

"Is that the best plan of action, moving forward?" Coulson wondered, frowning. "Sounds dangerous."

Fury shrugged. "If it's not… we're going to find out the hard way."

* * *

_"At 8 A.M. this morning, cellular biologist Samuel Sterns disappeared from his laboratory, signs point to a kidnapping. Along with himself, a great number of experimental samples were taken, though police reports do not indicate what they contained."_

General Thaddeus 'Thunderbolt' Ross sighed, dropping the paper onto his overly full desk.

"General?"

He turned on a dime, staring down at the diminutive private holding a stack of paper, who had entered his small man trembled slightly as the General flipped off the light on his desk and gestured for him to speak.

"I'm from IT, sir - someone's hacked into our systems." He paused for a moment as he quickly flipped through a printout. "Whoever did it, removed data from our normal servers and the backup. The updates that were lost were too fresh to have had a solid backup yet. I'm afraid the only remains are a few print-outs."

Ross growled. "What information did the hacker take?"

"Something concerning a 'Banner, B.', sir."

"Tell me everything," The General said, eyes narrowed.

"Whoever broke in removed all new data of the last twenty-four hours." The Private continued, handing over a small hand-held computer that he'd stuffed in his breast pocket. "This has the details; the people who have seen the data are being interviewed so we can determine what in particular has been lost; a trace is being done on the signal of the break-in, but it looks like it was rerouted extensively. Still, we're expecting a result within half an hour."

"Get the tall guy in here," he said darkly. "I want a word."

"Yes, sir."

The General frowned as he read the reports, looking at several stills that displayed what he'd expected – Banner during a recent episode, somewhere in the forest. Alongside was a second person, designated as 'Subject Scotty.'

"You needed me, sir?" A soldier said as he entered the tent uncertainly.

"Captain Blonsky. I want you and your unit to get ready for deployment. Our target's on the move, and trying to cover his tracks; the moment we know where he's at, we're sending you there to take him out."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know… something has been unsettled. There is a new twist in things. I sensed a strange thing earlier today – something I hadn't felt in centuries, and it confused my senses. It seemed like something that couldn't be… For a short moment, I believed-"

"What?"

"…No, it is folly. I believed – that someone had sneaked by me."

"Surely that's not possible. You guard the way!"

"So I do. Yet, I wonder." He turned around and gazed worriedly at the Bifrost. "I truly do wonder."

"Let such things not worry you overly, Heimdall. I am certain it was nothing."

"Nothing…" Heimdall did not look convinced. "Let us hope so."


	13. Stane

It was eerily quiet in Tony's house as Harry wandered through and stared outside into the evening sky through the vast windows. It was getting late, but he had no desire to sleep. After the whirlwind that his day was, including his meeting with Fury, he couldn't help but reconsider his choices, wondering if his decision was really the right one. Once more he'd managed to get himself employed by an organization that didn't care much for the boundaries of law, as long as the job got done.

Twirling his wand distractedly, he wondered what he'd do now. He might be called by S.H.I.E.L.D. at some point, but that would hardly make a steady job to get a reliable income, which he'd have to arrange at some point. Of course, working with anything too public would be an issue anyway; the army was after his hide, probably for similar reasons as S.H.I.E.L.D. had been, and it was unlikely this would get him on the good side of prospective employers. Staying in Tony's place was easy, and he doubted the man would really force him to leave. He wasn't a nuisance, and the house was plenty huge enough for some more people – but he did feel like a freeloader.

Tony was down in his basement, which was no surprise. He'd been spending a lot of his 'alone time' down there, and had spent more than one night sleeping on the couch, snoring loudly. Harry suspected that hiding out down there was the man's version of privacy. It was strange in a way - he was living pretty much as he was used to, with only one or two people really even knowing him. Well, there was Natasha, but they hadn't seen each other in a while, now. Perhaps that would change soon, with the new arrangement with S.H.I.E.L.D. Honestly both Tony and Bruce reminded him a little of Hermione - incredibly smart, analytical, and sharp. Of course, the kind of rapier wit that Tony in particular exemplified didn't match that mental image at all.

New friends - that's maybe what they were, even though he only knew them since so very recently. He felt vaguely uncomfortable about the whole concept given what happened back home, but they could take care of themselves, like Hermione and Ron were, he was certain. Perhaps - perhaps this was how he'd find a place in the world, again. A place among other unique, somewhat weird people. He shook his head, smiling vaguely at the idea.

There was a sudden thud under his feet, and he sprang up, hair rising on the back of his neck. "Jarvis… what was that?"

" _Mr. Stark appears to be engaging in an unplanned test of the lighting fixtures, sir. Please do not worry."_

Harry frowned as another thud blasted through the house, and he heard the tinkling sound of breaking glass. "And that?"

"… _Analysing the fracture strength of windows?"_

Harry had made it down the stairs just after a third and fourth blasted through the hall. There were no windows left in the hall, and there were several singed sections of wall that he could see. "Tony, what the hell are you doing?"

Tony stood there, fuming, one arm raised in his direction. It was covered in some kind of red-and-gold machine; it was like a glove, except metal, and within its palm shone a small circle very reminiscent of the arc reactor. For a moment it looked like he was going to fire again; then he lowered the device and slumped down on his bench. "Harry. Thought I told you the basement was off-limits to technophobes?" His usually jovial tone was absent.

"You were making a lot of noise," Harry answered carefully. "Mind telling me why you were blowing up your own home like this? Not that you're not welcome to do it, it  _is_  your place, but..."

"I needed to blow off some steam, that's all." Tony looked down at the device on his arm, frowning. "Forgot I wasn't alone around here."

"…If I can help, just tell me," Harry said softly.

Tony looked at Harry for a long moment. " _Harry…"_  He sighed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think this is something I have to do alone."

Harry nodded uncertainly, glancing at the TV. He recognized images from Afghanistan, villages under the control of terrorists, great stockpiles of weapons and missiles. He looked back at Tony's grimace. "I take it you're going back there, then?"

Tony didn't seem surprised by his conclusion. "Those weapons you see there on the TV? They're Stark weapons, and my company sold it to them. My company!" he ran a hand through his hair. "Obadiah has been trying to get me removed as CEO, and now I find out he's been dealing under the table with the  _worst_  of scum. The very people that  _kidnapped_ me in the first place. I can't let that kind of thing stand."

"So what, you're going to tell them off?" Harry said with a scoff. "Don't be an idiot, Tony. As I recall you have two powerful wrecking balls in this very house. I can't speak for Bruce, but I'd be willing to help you reclaim or blow up the damn things if you wanted to."

Tony smirked viciously. "Three." At Harry's confused look he gestured to the back of the basement. "Three wrecking balls. Come."

* * *

Bruce started awake as the walls trembled. He was up and clothed within the minute when a second and third thud resounded from below, and for a brief moment he feared the army had already found him. When nothing of the sort seemed evident, he relaxed.

Bruce left his room and thought of that afternoon. Meeting Tony Stark had been different than he expected. Tony, it turned out, was as aggravating as he was amusing; the man had an ego the size of the planet Jupiter and a childish streak a mile wide, but he was also oddly respectful of him. Perhaps it was because Harry was around, but the  _other guy_  had been fairly quiet, and even Tony's needling had done little more than annoy him. It was a welcome change, and he took advantage of the calm to improve his breathing techniques, so that the next time he wouldn't need to rely on outside help.

The sounds Bruce had heard, it turned out, came from below: From the basement. He cautiously descended the stairs, glancing around the dimly lit room; there were splinters of glass everywhere, and one of the lights hung limply from the ceiling, occasionally sending out bright sparks.

"Tony? Harry?"

"Here," Tony called tiredly from the back, and Bruce quickly made his way over. He found the man staring at Harry with a pensive look. The latter was propped up against the wall with his arms crossed. "Might as well make this a show 'n tell for everyone, then."

Bruce stepped back in surprise when the floor suddenly opened up, revealing a startling array of mechanical components. Robotic instruments erupted from under the floor with various intricate fragments of some kind of mechanical device attached. There were gleaming golden surfaces and bright red metal parts, all dancing around in what seemed like a computerized ballet. Tony stepped fearlessly into the mass of whirling and whirring machines, and they suddenly arranged themselves around him – boots closed around his calves as robotic arms placed red and gold components around his limbs before a large chest rose up and attached itself solidly to his middle. It was the most remarkable thing that Bruce had ever seen; he glanced sideways at Harry, and amended that.  _One_ of the most remarkable things. The helm snapped closed around Tony's face, and twin slits of light blinked on.

"Bloody hell," Harry whispered and Bruce agreed. Tony flexed his arms – the red and gold armour seemed light and flexible, and he turned to the other two with a very fluid movement; his boots clicked sharply against the floor.

"Meet the Mark III," Tony announced as the faceplate slid open, revealing the smirking face of Tony behind it. " It's a Fully functional gold-titanium alloy-based armour with built-in holographic technology, variable flight surfaces, and the best in repulsor technology that's available right now. My own design, actually. Pretty nifty, isn't it?"

Bruce blinked. "Wait,  _flight_  surfaces?  _You_  can fly  _too?"_  Bruce asked, sputtering, glancing between him and Harry. "Was the Law of Gravity repealed when I wasn't paying attention?"

Tony smirked. "This baby can go well beyond Mach 1, too. Don't get jealous now, I can't punch things into orbit; we all have our advantages."

"This was your secret project, then." Harry said at last, amazed. "…I'd ask you how it works, but I don't think I'd understand a word of the explanation." He stopped suddenly. "Hey, this might be a strange question – but have electronics ever gone haywire around this thing? I mean, regular electronics, not the stuff running on that arc reactor of yours?"

"No." Tony turned to him and flipped open the faceplate of his helmet. "Why would you think something like that? I imagine stuff would stop working if I fire the repulsors at it, but that's obvious."

Bruce studied the suit with a critical eye. "It certainly looks like armour, but does it stand up to a good hit? How much kinetic energy can this thing absorb?"

"Theoretically? It should be able to withstand hits from 20mm Vulcan rounds with only minor damage, if that gives you some idea. Designed it to take fall damage too, just in case – I should be able to survive, though the suit may end up ruined."

"Impressive," Bruce whispered. "Why did you make this? I thought you were done with weapons."

"It's not a weapon," Tony said. He paused. "Well - not just a weapon," he amended.

"Using a weapon to take out other weapons you made. Yeah, that sounds like your kind of thing." Harry tapped the armour with his knuckles. "You didn't just build this, did you? You designed it. That's bloody amazing."

Tony nodded, suddenly glancing upwards and frowning. "As interesting as it is to show off to you guys, you can take a closer look later. Right now, I have something important to do, and I don't need distractions."

"You're going after the terrorist group that captured you back in Afghanistan," Harry said, hesitating. Tony turned to him with sharp eyes. "Well, I could tell you to back off, but I know it wouldn't work on the likes of  _you._ " He paused, reaching into his pocket. "I could at least give you a good luck charm. Bruce will recognize it, I'm sure." He pulled out a dirty sock.

Tony stared. "…What."

"Just take it," Bruce commented tiredly. "My advice is to not think about it too hard."

Harry rolled his eyes, handing the smelly piece of clothing to Tony. "Trust me – put this somewhere on your person, and if you're in really deep shit, just say  _Portus_. It'll take a few seconds to activate. You can think me crazy, if you like, I don't care. Just… for my peace of mind. It should work for you as well as for anyone, and your suit would be fine, I'm certain."

Tony didn't comment, stuffing the piece of clothing into his suit with some difficulty. "If you're just doing this to make fun of me, I'll warn you now: You won't like my retaliation. A lucky sock, seriously?" He closed his faceplate. "Now... I must go, my people need me! Oh, before I go, what was that password, again?  _Port_ -"

"Don't!"

"- _us_? Oh, crap _,_ what…" Tony vanished in a flash. An enormous splash resounded in the distance.

Bruce sighed and shook his head. "…Well, I guess it's lucky that that word won't come up in casual conversation."

* * *

"Director, you need to see this." Coulson looked grim as he read his pad. "We were monitoring Stark's whereabouts as ordered, and we came across some unusual observations." He handed over a small pad which showed a scrolling list of data and pictures.

"Summarize it for me," Fury said shortly.

"Yes, sir. It's been determined that, as expected, the hacker that placed Harry's fake information in official files did this from Stark's house; we haven't taken any further steps, considering he's now a 'consultant'. There is more, though." He frowned, tapping the pad. "Someone got there before us. The army managed to trace a more recent alteration to public data, and it led them to Los Angeles. They know Bruce Banner is there, sir."

Fury cursed. "General Ross, I take it? I'm not surprised he kept a close eye on Banner's data, and he was probably the first to learn about the events in Brazil. Damn, is he already aware of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s involvement?"

"Unlikely, sir – the video they have retrieved from Brazil is considerably worse than our own footage, so no logos could be identified, let alone faces. That's not really the nastiest bit, though – that would be this." He tapped a button on the pad and a graph and list appeared; several lines were highlighted in red. "While tracking military activity in regards to Banner's file, we came across an unusual number of references to Harry and Stark. From there… we came across something disturbing. The army's receiving money from Mr. Stark's company as expected – but they're not the only ones."

Fury scanned the graph and narrowed his eyes. "Stark Industries has been double-dealing, if this data is correct, they've been supplying weapons to multiple sides of the same war,  _and_ they've been laundering money," Fury observed. "Who's been receiving these shipments? The army?"

"From what we can determine a great number of the weapons went to the terrorist organization known as the Ten Rings, sir. They were responsible for Mr. Stark's capture, if you recall. There's also a second large investment by Stark Industries that benefits another group or person, but there's not enough detail to determine who is receiving all that cash. The accounts involved had been emptied by the time we checked, and there's no telling who accessed them."

"Stark wouldn't fund his captors, that much is certain." He frowned. "Was Harry responsible for this?"

"Probably not," Coulson answered, shrugging. "All the transactions we've been able to trace coincide with Mr. Stark's absence from the public eye, but they started before he returned from his capture. In other words, before Harry even became an issue at all. Instead, another person is implicated, and from the limited data we've deciphered so far, most of the dealings were made via a computer in the Stark building in Los Angeles – registered under a Mr. Obadiah Stane."

Fury scowled. "I know that name."

Coulson nodded unhappily. "Unfortunately, so does S.H.I.E.L.D. – and the army as well, I imagine. Stane has been on our watch-list since he was spotted talking to Jerome Hamilton, a known domestic terrorist that's gone underground several years ago, and is still at large. Unfortunately, beyond a single conversation there is no evidence of their interaction, so the case was dismissed as likely being a fluke. Hamilton has been known to occasionally throw investigators a false lead.

Fury pulled up the file of Jerome Hamilton, and paled. "This guy deals in highly dangerous chemical and biological weapons, and sells them on the black market? I can say a  _lot_  about Stark, but he's never been quite inhumane enough for  _that_ kind of thing _._ Contact Agent Barton – tell him to suit up and pack his bow. I want to know where that money's going to, and tracking down Hamilton is a good way to get started on that."

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Coulson – you will head to Los Angeles, after you're done with that. With the army closing in, Banner and Harry might need S.H.I.E.L.D. support to cover them, and you're it. Take a squad. " He waited until the man nodded, then turned away, flipping open his phone and quickly dialling a number he'd recently memorized.

The phone was picked up immediately.  _"What do you need, Director?"_ After a stunned silence, Harry chuckled.  _"I had a suspicion you might call, even though I had hoped it would take longer than this. What do you need?"_

Fury scanned the map of Los Angeles as he called it up on his computer screen, focusing on the Stark building. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is pursuing someone who has been spending a great amount of Stark's money on illicit activities, including terrorism. I figured you'd appreciate getting your hands dirty on that, given the fact that you can actually stand him."

"… _Sure,"_  Harry responded.  _"What are you going to do?"_

"We want to bring in the culprit so that we can question him. He may have information about the groups he is in contact with, so that we can take them out." Fury frowned. "Unfortunately, we cannot simply drop in on the target. You might want to know the army has gotten involved, and we'd like to keep S.H.I.E.L.D.'s presence out of the picture, to avoid getting into yet another squabble with defence. Your abilities would allow you to evacuate the target without having to go straight through the armed forces, which would be a serious boon, and you are not known to be affiliated with us."

" _Figures you'd find a way to keep yourself safe, while I get even more notorious,"_ Harry said dryly. " _What exactly do you need me to do, then? Helping out Tony's becoming a habit, so I'll do it, but I'd like some bloody details."_

Fury sighed. "Alright. I want you to break into the Stark building, and retrieve a man called Obadiah Stane. I am sending you a picture of him, right now. You managed to sneak onboard the Helicarrier, getting into Stark's place certainly shouldn't be a problem for you." He muttered something uncomplimentary about that particular incident. "The target will likely be armed, so you'd have to prepare for that. We want to interrogate him, so keep him in one piece, too."

" _Is delivering him to that last base we spoke at acceptable? The one with the fancy garden?"_

"…You don't know where that is, you were in a blinded car."

Harry laughed softly on the other end of the line.  _"I think you'll have to learn not to underestimate me, Director. Now, what do we do if the army does decide to interfere? You know they're on the lookout for both me and Banner, right? I'd really rather avoid them entirely, if at all possible."_

Fury rubbed his forehead tiredly. "You can keep yourself out of their hands until Agent Coulson arrives with S.H.I.E.L.D. support. If it's absolutely necessary, they'll intervene. We'll deal with any fallout from that after the fact."

" _Okay."_

* * *

Harry frowned, slipping the phone back into his pocket; it was performing admirably so far, which was somewhat surprising after Fury's had practically self-destructed. Perhaps it had something to do with the comparative simplicity of this one? It certainly didn't look nearly as sophisticated as the one he'd had before. Musing on the topic, he didn't notice Bruce's impatient stare until the man decided to speak up.

"Well, what did he want? What's happening? There's only two people who could've been calling…"

Harry turned to Bruce with a serious expression. "It was Fury, and he'd asked me to help out. Quicker than I'd anticipated, actually, but I guess it makes sense." He narrowed his eyes at his phone, wondering how to bring up the picture that had been sent. "Tony's company is being used to get great amounts of money to terrorists, and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s uncovered who's behind it." Bruce sucked in a breath, but gestured for Harry to continue. "A man called Obadiah Stane – Tony's mentioned him before, and I always heard he was a good man. His mentor, even."

"Tony's mentor's been  _stealing_  from him?"

Harry grimaced. "It's worse than that, I believe. Stane's been trying to oust Tony from his position and take his place. Now it seems Stane's already been abusing his current position to trade large sums with the very terrorist organization that took Tony captive in the first place. I wonder how coincidental that capture was?" He stepped over to the windows and looked over the sea. "Tony's gone to personally destroy all the weaponry that the terrorists received from Stark Industries. Fury wants me to bring in Stane, and I have no real clue how Tony might react to something like that, given their relation. Even with his questionable dealings of late, I doubt he'd just go along with capturing such a long-time friend."

Bruce nodded. "You want to take him in before Tony's back. I'll help, of course."

Harry turned to Bruce in surprise. "You'll help _?_  Why's that? Last I checked, you've only known the guy for a  _day_ , and I didn't think you'd want to get near the army, in any case. They're still looking for you, and they're getting awfully close."

Bruce hesitated, and then frowned. "Harry , I might be afraid of hurting people – but I'm not a coward. You're clearly going after this guy alone, and that's just begging for trouble. Besides – half the Stark building has electronic locks, you wouldn't know what to do with them!"

Harry smirked. "Hey, I might not know much about computers, but I can blow them up well enough, and that usually works for my purposes. Now that you mention it, thought… I was considering finding a way into Stane's office. There's a computer there that has been used for most of the trading, and it's bound to have some juicy information. Chances are S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn't gotten to it yet, so we could use the opportunity to figure out what's going on."

Bruce deliberated for a moment, and then nodded. "I can get that information, I think – but I'd need to sneak in, and it would take me at least a few minutes to get access and copy the files, or to transmit them back here. We'd probably need a distraction."

Harry smiled knowingly. "Perhaps not. If I take out Stane, you could go after the data, and all you'd really need is a way not to get spotted by any guards that might be there. I have a way…"

* * *

"This isn't physically possible!"

"Hush," Harry whispered, cringing. "You're going to warn half the building that you're there – just try not to get yourself noticed, please."

"Nanotube sheets could potentially generate an effect similar to this, but there's no way it could be a flexible surface, let alone allow one to sense the outside from within the effect zone!" Bruce whispered, slipping his face out. "Metamaterial technology is not this advanced! It  _can't_ be!"

Harry rolled his eyes. He wasn't all that comfortable with allow Bruce to borrow his invisibility cloak, but under the circumstances he didn't need it nearly as much; a disillusionment charm would work well enough for his purposes, even if it probably wouldn't fool much more than a casual visual search. "Bruce – just skip trying to figure out how it works, and accept that it does."

"…I think it actually blocks infrared light. Does it block the entire light spectrum? But how could you see anything from under it, then? This is…"

" _Bruce."_

"Yes, yes…" Bruce said, sighing. "Just promise me that we'll have a  _talk_ about this, after we're done. You keep pulling  _miracles_ out of your pockets…"

"Get up to Stane's office, and be careful _."_  Harry whispered forcefully. "I'll go after Stane himself – I believe I saw him downstairs in the foyer, so I'll start there. On the off chance he's in the office, don't approach him. Just wait until I'm near." Bruce nodded, slipping the cloak over his head and quickly departing down the hall.

Harry sighed in relief. Without his cloak, he'd need to be more careful than he usually was: Infrared cameras would easily spot him, for one. Thankfully the Stark building seemed fairly empty at this time of the night. The structure had at its centre a sizable version of the arc reactor; though it felt somewhat similar to Tony's version, the giant machine was strangely weaker than the pocket-sized version he knew. When Tony had unveiled his metal suit, his chest reactor had gone into serious overdrive, and for a moment Harry had been convinced that the magic would ruin every electronic device within a mile wide radius. It hadn't. Whatever strange form of magic this might be, it wasn't like anything he'd ever encountered.

Sneaking down to the ground floor, there were about a dozen people scattered around the hall; several were carrying around tools and heading for the basement, a few others were speaking in hushed tones. Quickly moving past, it took him only a few minutes to get to the largest gathering.

"Anyone have any idea what we're dealing with?" one of the men said, scratching his head. "It's not often that you get booted from your own lab…"

"Not really," answered a second man. "I hear it came from upstairs – some kind of secret parts, something like that. I guess it's that new contract, top secret stuff."

"Let's hope the press skips this one, can you imagine the stories that could form?" the first responded, sighing. "Where's the big guy, anyway?"

"Upstairs, I imagine. Said he had to take care of something. I think he'd just out to find himself some more donuts," a third man commented, and the others chuckled.

The big guy – well, three guess who that was. Harry turned on his heel, heading back in the direction that Bruce had gone. As he reached the stairs he gave up on stealth in the nigh-abandoned hallways and sprinted ahead. He whipped up the stairs at breakneck speed, wand at the ready. The three security guards that he came across on his way up the many stairs didn't even have time to notice him; they toppled to the ground, stunned.

Harry quickly put an Impervius charm on his clothes; it had been helpful in the past. He stalked over to the door slowly. Stane sat behind his desk, rummaging through a pile of papers and muttering softly to himself. Stepping in softly, the man suddenly looked up, and frowned, before turning back to his papers.

Seeing him sitting there, Harry wondered whether or not he could really do this – arrest someone merely on Fury's say-so. He put another step forward, and this time Stane looked up, and their gazes locked. Pure panic flashed through those eyes for a moment, replaced almost immediately by a calculating gaze that was far too devious for comfort.

"Obadiah Stane," Harry said, dropping the disillusionment spell, now that he'd been spotted.

"I recognize you," Stane said slowly, eyes narrowing. "You saved Tony's bacon in Afghanistan, didn't you? I never did get to meet you."

Harry shrugged. "Harry Callahan, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm afraid I've come here for your arrest, Mr. Stane." Harry tried to smile congenially. There were no guns in sight, though that could be a ruse; he was ready to send a  _Stupefy_  in an instant, should he get nasty. He briefly considered just stunning him and getting out of there, but that was a bit of overkill when dealing with an embezzler.

"So you  _are_  a secret agent," Stane whispered, eyes widening. "I had suspected it, but... That technology you used; turning nearly invisible is a remarkable achievement. You must be working for an organization  _much_  higher up the food chain than I'd anticipated. Who do you work for?"

Harry shrugged, imagining the devilish smirk that Fury would have at hearing such praise for his organization. "Are you going to make this a mess, or will you come quietly?"

A tense silence persisted for nearly a minute. Finally Stane nodded tiredly. "Alright – I'll come quietly. No need to get hasty. Can you at least tell me who you're taking me to?" Stane gingerly raised his hands; Harry had only enough time to notice a small pencil-sized object in one of them and raise his hand an inch, and he nearly had a spell off, before the buzzing started. For a second it felt like his heart stopped, and his wand dropped back into his pocket from his trembling fingers. The excruciatingly high-pitched sound of the little device echoed in his head as his muscles got stuck in position. He desperately tried to move his body, but it was no use. His breath became heavy and laboured and he couldn't look away.

"Don't worry – it will only last fifteen minutes, give or take," Stane said, smiling. "Such uses this technology has – temporary paralysis has many applications, and we really should have brought this little doodad into production, don't you think? It's unfortunate that you should discover its wonders so very shortly before your demise."

Harry tried to scream, to yell, to cast spells, but it was pointless. He might as well have been a statue. For an instant, he felt like he was back on the tower, watching powerlessly as Snape approached Dumbledore, the Killing Curse on his lips.

Stane smiled viciously. "I'm sure it's quite uncomfortable, but that's the least of your problems. In five minutes, there will be an unfortunate explosion at Stark Industries, destroying all financial information that had been erroneously left without a backup. I'm afraid you tragically die in the fire. Don't worry, I'm sure that they'll write a touching eulogy for Stark's saviour, and you'll get an honourable funeral for your service to the nation. I do appreciate getting this chance - "

A loud cry suddenly reverberated through the room, and for a moment Stane seemed as frozen as Harry was. He slowly turned to the source of the cry and paled dramatically when he realized what he was seeing. Three feet beside him, Bruce's upper body suddenly became visible, where before there had only been thin air. His muscles were twitching wildly, his eyes crazed. The gossamer invisibility cloak slid off the man's twitching frame, pooling to the floor at his feet as Bruce bellowed again in a far deeper voice. Harry shivered violently as he realized what had happened. Bruce had been in the room all along. The paralyzing device had caught him by surprise as much as it had Harry, but Harry didn't have a violent alter ego that really,  _really_  didn't appreciate stress.

In his frozen state, Harry could do nothing but watch helplessly as Bruce struggled against the device's effects, a greenish hue flashing across his skin as his limbs were slowly forced to obey by a cruder consciousness than his own. In his last sensible moments, Bruce tried to grab Stane. The next roar was deafening and Bruce's massive hand slammed down onto the floor, but it was too late. He was gone.

The Hulk turned to Harry with a look in his eyes that was so alien – so lost – that Harry had no idea what the creature was thinking. It didn't look violent, or even raging: If anything, Harry thought he saw Bruce in there, confusedly gazing around himself from the Hulk's body. The creature raised a hand, and prodded Harry in the shoulder. The wizard toppled to the floor, his limbs still refusing to move.

"Puny human," the Hulk grumbled. It ripped Obadiah's desk aside with one hand, sending it crashing through the window and out the side of the building. Below the desk was a device; it was large and black, and decidedly not supposed to be there. With a mighty swing it careened out of the building as well, flipping through the air, end over end. It smashed into the ground far below and released an explosive shock wave that rumbled through the building.

Harry twitched, and his hand moved minutely; slowly, he was regaining control of his muscles. He tried to keep his sight on the Hulk – all the could see was it standing at the giant hole it'd torn into the side of the Stark building, as if unsure of what to do. Harry desperately hoped it wouldn't decide he'd make suitable smashing material. Still, he let out a slight sigh to relief. Unintentionally or not, Bruce had just saved his life.

"Stane," Harry whispered; his tongue felt heavy and sluggish in his mouth, and he was uncomfortably reminded of resting in St. Mungo's after taking a particularly nasty spell-burn to his torso; he'd been nearly as weak, there. The Hulk would probably tear the man limb from limb, but right that moment Harry couldn't care; orders to capture or not, Stane had just tried to  _murder_  him, and he wasn't damn well letting the guy get away without a scratch.

The Hulk turned and stared at him for a long moment. Its eyes looked far less like Bruce's than before. They resembled burning, constantly smouldering coals, now. The creature stepped over to Harry, its footsteps putting little dents into the floor. "Stane," Harry tried again, attempting to gesture. He knew it was probably pointless to communicate with Bruce like this – it certainly hadn't worked last time – but while he couldn't movie, he had nothing to lose. The creature suddenly roared at the top of its lungs, and with a single movement the entire wall crashed in on itself, descending in bits and pieces around him as the Hulk stormed through. It hurtled into offices on the other side and thundered through the hall, out of sight.

Harry slowly managed to sit upright, his skin regaining some colour and his breathing returning to a semblance of normal as the paralysis started to wear off, leaving him confused and sick. Harry tried to cast a reviving spell - it worked well enough for Stunners - but he couldn't manage it; he was shaking, and his concentration was shot. Sirens sounded in the distance and he knew that was bad news. He wasn't quite sure why right that moment. He managed to, at last, stand up. He grasped his jacket and pulled out his phone, taking a long minute to recall Tony's number.

"T-Tony?"

" _Harry? …You sound horrible, what's going on?"_

"W-We're at the St-Stark building. Banner's changed – Stane. Stane's gone bad." Harry said, groaning. "Where… are y-you?"

" _I'm headed back home – I have over two hours of travel time left, even if I push it – what's the situation? Talk?"_

Harry stumbled into the ruined hallway, grasping his wand in hand. He tried a few spells he knew to counteract stunning, but they had little effect. Casting  _Rennervate_  did little: He felt like dancing a jig, but his limbs protested and refused to comply. Aside from the floor, which was miraculously enough intact, there was scarcely anything left of the upper floors; even the ceiling sagged under its own weight, and Harry stumbled out before it could collapse on him.

"Stane – he used… some kind of paralysis device. Tried to kill me. He didn't see – Bruce." Harry muttered into his phone. He summoned his invisibility cloak from the floor and wrapped it around his shuddering shoulders as he made his way to more stable ground. "Bruce – changed. I think he's gone after Stane."

" _You're telling me that Obadiah tried to kill you?"_ Tony barked, furious. Harry grunted in affirmation, making his way to the window with measured steps. He gazed out of the giant tear in the side of the building where the Hulk had smashed its way out. Far below, he could see the green giant. Unfortunately, there was something else.

"Tony – there's – there's another suit!" Harry blurted, taking in the huge machine that took a hit from the Hulk's fist, and remained standing. It looked like a gigantic silver version of Tony's armour – bulkier and larger, but definitely reminiscent of it. The huge machine blasted the Hulk with a bright repulsor beam, and the green behemoth lurched back. Harry quickly rummaged through his bag for his trusty Firebolt; he had no desire to try and run in his condition. "It's like yours - but gigantic!"

Tony cursed.  _"That's the Mark I, it has to be – Damn it, I left it in little pieces. Someone must've reconstructed the thing. I'm already headed back, can you keep the scrapyard busy while I put on afterburners?"  
_

"You cannot take me, brute!" Obadiah's deformed voice resounded from the huge metal suit; its fist smashed across the Hulk's face and there was immediate retaliation, but the suit actually fended off the blow, energy crackling across its surface. In the centre of the great machine's chest – right where an arc reactor would be – gleamed an iridescent green light.

"Stane's … in the suit," Harry said, wincing. "He's actually managing to block Bruce's hits in that thing. I think we'll need all the... firepower we can get."

" _I'm hauling my shiny metal ass back there at Mach 2!"_

"Tony... Portus."

There was a silence on the other end. "...This _shouldn't become a habit. I think I still have a waterlily shoved in between my-"_ He cut himself off, and sighed.  _"Couldn't you have picked a cooler passphrase than Portus? Anyway, you'll pay for the cleaning b-"_  The signal cut off.

In the distance, military helicopters approached.


	14. Iron Monger

The phone clattered to the floor and bounced twice before it came to a stop against the wall.

"...Bad news, sir?"

Fury closed his eye, and for a few long moments there was absolute silence. He didn't even breathe. Then, he sighed, rubbing his brow and shaking his head. "Sometimes... sometimes this job is a fucking nightmare."

He turned to the bridge, then. "Everyone, please pay attention. I just received news of a major disturbance in Los Angeles that concerns S.H.I.E.L.D. assets and at least one monitored individual. A large section of the city surrounding the Stark Industries building has been blocked by police, and military forces are on their way in; attack helicopters and tanks, from what I understand. I want every eye and ear we can manage concentrated on that spot, on the double!"

"I take it, that means yes," Agent Triers said wryly, glancing at the screens as one by one they flipped to images of a city – and a vast dust cloud blanketing part of it, originating at the base of the Stark building. The structure seemed to have seen better days, as a huge hole had been torn across part of it, with a second one near the base of the building; the entire thing sagged a little, with many windows broken or cracked all across it.

The first live pictures came in from nearby cameras that were still in use, a quickly re-targeted satellite, and hacked feeds directly from the military. There were several horrified gasps as it became clear what was happening down on the ground. The Hulk's massive form appeared right in the centre of frame, one fist caught in the mechanical hand of what appeared to be a gigantic bipedal robot. The two massive figures bashed each other around like they weighed nothing, and for the moment the green monstrosity seemed to keep pace with its foe, grappling and slamming without any sense of tactics, merely rage.

"He took Banner," Fury muttered. "He went to take down an arms dealer, and he took the guy who gets pissed and green when someone looks at him funny. Of all the  _irresponsible_ , idiotic decisions..."

"Sir?" One of the technicians gestured to the screen, where a graph suddenly popped up; whatever it was, it showed exponential increase, getting progressively worse over time. Fury turned to the man and frowned.

"What am I looking at?"

"This is something our sensors are picking up – we're getting significantly raised gamma radiation in the area of the fight, spiking to levels that would be fatal to a human being within the hour if directly exposed, and they're still climbing. There's no known incident involving Dr. Banner that mentions something like this."

"It's not his doing, then," Fury answered. "That other one, the robot – it must be running on some form of Gamma radiation energy source, though I don't know whose brilliant idea that was. Considering how he got be the way he is, gamma rays are liable to just make Banner even stronger and madder." He turned back to Triers worriedly. "Can we get some identification on that robotic device? Are we dealing with some toy of Stark's that got loose, or what?"

"I'll try to figure that out, sir." Triers answered hesitantly. "Without better images though, we won't get very far. We know, at least, that it's  _very_ powerful, if it can take the kinds of hits I'm registering..."

Fury had an urge to throw things – large things. He'd given a simple instruction – apprehend Stane. A stealth mission, if anything. Instead, it had apparently culminated in not just one, but two super-powered giant behemoths ravaging through the middle of the city, and now the military was moving in  _too._  Damn consultants.

The image on Fury's monitor changed as a superior quality stream became available, courtesy of a spy-plane focusing its excellent camera at the spectacle. Fury finally got a good look on what was happening down there, and it wasn't pretty. Banner was slamming down walls and everything higher than his shins with massively powerful physical hits, while the robot crushed almost anything it came across underfoot, its surface crackling with energy, and fired what appeared to be grenades or small missiles, ruining what was left. Right in the centre of the robot's torso was a bright glowing green object emitting enough radiation to cause noise on even the spy camera, miles above.

"Tell the police to enlarge their perimeter," Fury ordered immediately. "No unprotected person gets anywhere  _near_  that place. Do we know if there's anyone still in the building?"

"Police have reports of a relatively small group of Stark employees fleeing the building after Banner appeared on the scene; they didn't mention the robot." Triers tapped a few buttons, frowning. "Connections with the building have been severed, but according to the last logs, the building was largely empty."

Fury nodded, relieved. "We'll see about blame later, let's get this thing sorted first. I see Banner, and that – thing. Has anyone spotted our man? Was he among the refugees?" He gritted his teeth as he wondered whether the man would be a consultant for much longer, after this. "Do we have a fix on Harry?"

"Yes, sir! Camera 6." Triers said, tapping his screen. "He's well within the gamma-ray hotspot, sir. That, and he's... is he  _flying_?"

Descending from the third-highest floor of the Stark building, a small figure slowly floated to ground level, his clothes rippling around him. It looked like he was wearing some kind of robes or a cloak as it flapped around him, and whatever it was made of shimmered and rippled eerily. Harry landed on his feet, striding closer to the fighting giants with a quick stride.

"He's insane," Triers muttered. "He's going  _towards_  them. He's completely crazy."

"I don't disagree," Fury muttered as he saw the figure raise his hand – and for a split second a dome of some type of energy formed directly in front of him. It seemed, Fury realized, that he'd  _finally_  get a proper view of Harry's abilities, even if from further away than he'd wished. A small blessing in a disaster of ridiculous proportions.

* * *

Well, this was just  _great._ Harry shook off the last of the annoying miasma that clouded his senses, running a hand through his hair. How the hell was he going to turn this mess into something vaguely resembling a victory? Bruce was – well – green, Stane had managed to find himself a gigantic mechanical suit three times the size of Tony's version, and the two were caught in a slug-match on the parking lot of the Stark building. To make matters worse, helicopters were heading his way – and they weren't coming for anything amiable, he suspected.

Keeping his distance from the two behemoths was, he supposed, the sensible thing to do. It would also solve nothing – the two hit each other, backed off, and tried again, and it didn't look like either one would be overpowering the other soon. Perhaps the sound was still affecting Bruce, perhaps Stane's suit was  _that_  powerful, but they would not nearly be done with their fight before reinforcements showed up.

Making sure his invisibility cloak was still properly attached, Harry quickly strode closer – his fingers clasped tightly around his wand as he wondered how he was going to stop this little grudge match. Stunners and other similar low-level spells wouldn't hurt either of the combatants, nor probably even annoy them, and fire probably wouldn't be of too much help either, unless he got it incredibly hot. Really the only spells he would be able to use were ones that affected inanimate objects. Levitation? Well, it would probably work for a moment – even if it'd probably be tougher to keep a giant behemoth steady than a feather – but with all the missiles and guns on the thing, it would probably not even mind the ride. Concussive blasts would work for a moment, but they were hardly ideal.

Barring ridiculous spells that would just make him mad, Harry only had one class of spells he could use against Stane – aside from dark magic – and those were big ones. Rifts or spikes from the earth, freezing cold, melting charms effective enough to turn obsidian into putty. The downside – those things took a  _lot_  out of him, especially in succession. Concentrating on keeping such spells steady inevitably gave him an awful headache, and focusing would be a problem. Cutting loose like that – well, it would probably give Fury a heart attack and the media an aneurysm – but he'd been the catalyst here, he'd have to clean up the mess.

"Stane!" Harry called, the last of his shock and embarrassment making way for a worse, but far more useful emotion: Anger. "Can you hear me, you giant tin can?"

The Hulk slammed into the massive iron suit, and for a moment it seemed to buckle – then it blasted the giant back with a sudden green conflagration erupting from its chest, and there was an actual cry of pain. It stumbled back, a huge wound crossing across its entire chest, bleeding even as it healed over; the creature didn't immediately attack again, circling its prey as it nursed the injury - and then it spotted Harry.

"Crap." Harry quickly put up the strongest shield he could as the giant hulking beast suddenly lashed out in his direction - it was a hell of a lot faster than he'd registered when the earth was knocked out from under him and Harry found himself suddenly looking at the sky, his head aching. He blinked, for a moment trying to remember what happened, before he shot up - and was smacked aside, skidding aground the floor and coming to rest against the wall, his left arm twisted beneath him at an angle it really shouldn't have. His Shield Charm - the Hulk had gone around it - he'd actually planned out his attack. Harry groaned as the creature howled, before it turned away from its broken prey, back to Stane.

Getting to his feet, slowly, Harry managed to stop himself from bleeding out, quickly closing the wounds he'd gained - his right arm, however, was out of commission, at least for now. Grimacing as he realized how bad it would hurt to move it, he quickly froze it in place with a localized  _Petrificus_. He couldn't keep in a scream as the bone was forced straight, and it was probably a bad idea - but he had Skele-Gro, he would manage.

The Hulk had returned its attention to Stane's suit - Harry walked over at a sedate pace, worrying that the Hulk would once more forget the more pressing target in favour of the squishy one; instead he found that the creature was slowly circling the huge metal monster, which attempted to use its repulsors, but the green monster was nimble enough to avoid being hit.

" _Sonorus_." Harry muttered as he tapped his throat. "STANE!"

That got his attention – the giant suit turned to him in an instant, the green glow in its centre eerily lighting it up, its eyes still mostly covered in shadow, though thin red slits were visible. It kept one repulsor aimed straight at the Hulk. "You again. I thought I'd gotten rid of you."

"Surrender now!" Harry called, scowling, trying to ignore his arm, which now felt like it was on fire. "Stop this! You can't hope to win this, not even in that fancy toy of yours. If this continues, you  _will_ get hurt, or you'll end up dead."

"You're a  _freak_  like him, aren't you?" Stane asked harshly, gesturing at the Hulk, who stared warily, its wound finally closed due to the inhuman healing it possessed. For the moment, it seemed to be paying close attention, coming off as far more intelligent than Harry had really expected.

Stane turned back to the creature and shot out two sizable rockets from under its forearms, exploding against it's skin with a crackling snap. Stane stepped forward in his suit, green energy gathering across the limbs of the vehicle as it charged. The hit was incredible - hitting the Hulk at full force, the giant suit blasted the green giant away at incredible speed. It barelled over the edge of the wall and disappeared from sight with an enraged , Stane turned back. "Now... for you."

"Stane – you tried to kill me, up there," Harry called, grimacing. "Now, I'm usually a forgiving person, but I tend to have a problem with people who do that sort of thing. It's sort of a pet peeve, if you will. It tends to ruin my day." He narrowed his eyes. "The first time someone tried it, it took me more than fifteen years to hunt the bastard down, and he finally died at my hand. I've become more... efficient, since. You should give up while you can – Bruce will win on his own, if you keep antagonizing him further. He'll be done with throwing a tantrum soon enough, and remember you. Let's not forget that you don't have any idea what I can do, either. Stand down, or I'll  _make you_."

Stane seemed momentarily stunned by the boast, amplified as it was to ten times its usual volume. Then he laughed with a metallic, hollow sound. "What are you going to do? One good smash and you'll be no more than a smudge on the floor!" As he finished, a shoulder of his suit opened up, a small device rising from the hole and snapping open: With a thundering rattle dozens of small missiles blasted from it into the sky. After a chaotic moment they found stability – and headed right towards Harry.

"You don't get it, do you?" Harry exclaimed, throwing caution to the wind – he had to take the missiles out of the picture before the spot he stood was only a crater. "The reason I don't have a big bulky suit – is that I don't need it." Concentrating, Harry swiped his hand to the side at the last moment, and brief purple flashes burst over the lethal projectiles. As if repelled, they suddenly went wildly off target – some headed straight up into the sky, others spiralled wildly and smashed down to the ground some distance away. Half of them didn't even explode, falling to the ground like dead weights. It made for an impressive show, and Harry couldn't help but smile, as what he'd done he'd only heard about – he'd put a Revulsion Jinx on something that  _wasn't_  a person, for the first time. He massaged his arm and winced, feeling that one or two of his ribs weren't doing all that great either.

"Wha…?" Stane said, evidently speechless.

"You  _really_ don't want to mess with me," Harry said conversationally, trying to ignore his arm as he stepped even closer. "Within about five minutes, there will be more backup here than you can handle – and keeping Bruce off your back is tough enough, isn't it? You should feel lucky that he's not bashing you into shrapnel right now." He smirked knowingly. "You know, I wasn't looking for all this nonsense, when I left. It might not mean anything to you – but this really shouldn't have happened. I didn't intend to rescue someone from the desert, or befriend the jolly green giant, or face off against a corrupt arms dealer in a tin can." He shook his head. "It seems, though, that I find myself in the most exciting of situations, just by existing. Perhaps I did something wrong in a former life, and this one was cursed to be interesting?"

"How did you do that?" Stane uttered at last, somewhere between shocked and appalled. "Those were Kisin-I missiles, they track body heat! They don't even have proper guidance to scramble!"

"You don't know what you're dealing with, clearly." Harry shook his head tiredly. "You don't want to see me when I get serious." He stood his ground as the giant suit paused for a moment. Another chunk of tank flew past overhead, and Harry smirked. Bruce was having fun, but from what little he could see, all he was throwing around was hardware; there were no people in sight.

The sound of helicopters had become progressively louder, and now at last they were close enough to see – and there was something peculiar. There were the loud chopping noises he'd already heard a bit of earlier, but there was something else. Some kind of… Harry blinked. That was  _music._

* * *

Blasting 'Ride of the Valkyries' on full volume, the two approaching helicopters suddenly veered off. They were forced to the ground as their instruments went completely haywire. In between them, shining brightly in the searchlights of the two aircraft, flew Tony in his gleaming suit with his boot-jets firing at full thrust. He slammed into Stane at full velocity on his way down to the ground. The giant suit barely budged, but the metal of its chassis buckled as twin repulsors blasted into it; Tony flipped end over end and stabilized again.

"Did you miss me?" he called, saluting to Harry. "Today, you get two iron men for the price of one! Buy this one now, before the other one gets  _wrecked._ "

"What the hell took you so long to get here?" Harry called, narrowing his eyes as the gians suit reoriented itself.

"I unloaded my entire arsenal in Afghanistan, loudmouth. I had to stock up on ammunition, obviously," Tony responded, shaking his head. "So – why is Green Guy playing golf in my warehouses? Who thought that was a good idea?" He turned to Stane and shook his head. "And what the  _hell_  were you thinking, Obadiah, trying to kill someone who saved my life?"

He turned to the other suit as he slowly landed, cutting his jets at the last moment. Stane had to be in there – but what the hell was he thinking, using it in the middle of a city? "Now I might generally get upset over murder, but this is like multiple times as bad. Where did you get that monstrosity you're in, anyway?" He paused. "Well, not that it looks bad, it's clearly based on one of my designs, but you catch my drift."

"Tony," Stane said harshly. "You underestimated me - both my intelligence, and my cunning. I retrieved the technology you used to escape within a week of your departure from Afghanistan, and it wasn't hard, reconstructing it. Then, though… there came problems. The arc reactor – it is a part that cannot be easily replicated. So – I found another way. I represent progress – you only hog the technology to yourself. I found a better way."

"Gamma. If that's better, I don't want to see worse," Tony observed. He glanced at Harry then. "That thing's putting out enough radiation that I'd drop dead within the hour, if I didn't have my suit to compensate. Hey, Harry, your vague and unspecified alien race doesn't happen to have immunity to this stuff, right?"

Harry groaned. "Can't we save the questions for later, and take him down before the military decides that Bruce isn't the only target they could be lobbing explosives at?"

Tony hummed, turning back to Stane. He'd have plenty of questions – he'd already been asking them, after all, he just hadn't gotten answers – but the man had a point. "So, Obi – you got involved with someone who handles gamma technology of the most sophisticated kind, and actually obtained some of it. You didn't get it from anyone I'd care to meet, I expect, given that experimenting with such tech for weapon applications has been illegal for  _years_." He glanced at the distant figure of Bruce. "For obvious reasons."

Stane scoffed. "Don't expect me to explain myself to you, of all people. You know what made your father great? He had a vision for Stark Industries, something to work towards. You? You were a wuss before you left for Afghanistan, but when you returned you'd lost all reason. A weapons company that doesn't sell weapons?" He sighed. "You should've died there, in the desert, and the company would've survived - would have thrived. Instead, here you are. The Ten Rings is no more reliable than any other terrorist group, it seems."

Tony stayed quiet for a long moment. "You hired those terrorists? To  _kill me_?"

"He's been stealing from you, too, and funding that very terrorist group with the money," Harry added morosely. "That's actually why I was here to begin with – I was sent to take him in. Figured you would appreciate if I handled it without a lot of fuss. Look how that turned out." He shook his head. "This always happens, doesn't it?"

"I think me, you and Banner should make a team, call ourselves the Trouble Magnets," Tony said, shaking his head. "Obadiah Stane - you're fired, obviously."

"That which the Ten Rings could not do, I can," Stane shouted. "With this suit, I can withstand the power of the gods themselves!"

"Yeah, yeah, boast some more," Tony said, shaking his head. He turned to Harry. "We'll have to take this sucker down, and then bury that suit somewhere five miles underground, as it's going to be a death-trap for the next few hundred years with that kind of gamma source." He paused. "How is that thing not killing you? Even with pure titanium or lead you'd get a nasty dose, especially in the Mark I…"

"I have perfected it: It is now greater than ever. Isn't it ironic? Trying to rid the world of weapons, you gave it its best one ever, and now, I'm going to kill you with it." Stane whipped his suit's fist forward, opening two nozzles. "You're in the way of progress, Tony - you're the obsolete model." Tony raised a repulsor to fire, but Stane beat him to it.

The world was fire. Blasting over him like a torrent of lava, Harry vanished in the blaze bursting from the giant suit's nozzles. It was so hot even parts of Stane's suit began to deform and bubble, and Tony was forced to withdraw, his own suit's outer shell overheating.

"Ow, ow, hot! Hot!" Whipping through the air, Tony managed to siphon off some of the energy, but even with cooling at full, part of his armour had simply melted off, exposing wiring and the mesh that formed its basis underneath. Beneath him the earth had turned into one giant conflagration, covering several dozen feet in every direction – and Harry had been right in the middle of it.

Bruce smashed into view again, bursting through one of the last standing walls of the parking lot, half of a tank's gun in one hand, an entire car functioning as a shield in the other. Clearly Tony's warehouses contained a little more than some scrap metal. Stane bowed slightly, and something folded out on the back of his armour: half a dozen fairly large objects that launched themselves in quick succession, transforming mid-flight into something far more recognizable: UAV's reminiscent of bomber drones.

"Crap, Harry, those things could blow up a whole neighbourhood!" Tony exclaimed as he blasted up, and three of the weapons immediately locked onto him, leaving the other two to immediately head for Bruce, who howled in distress as they opened fire with repeating guns. The Hulk responded by attempting an almighty smash right overhead, but the first hit went way past its target. A massive roar resounded around the buildings as it lured the two drones away. Tony managed to evade a small missile from one of the ones chasing him and wondered whether he should flee – this was getting awfully hairy.

Then, from the heart of the flames, came something that didn't make sense. Laughter.

* * *

Harry couldn't help chuckling at the tickling sensation as he made his way out of the fire in as dignified a manner as possible. Flame-Freezing Charm or not, he still felt quite warm, and he distractedly put a Cooling Charm on his clothes as well. There was a certain irony to using the same tactics that wizards and witches used to escape the witch-burnings, and for not that dissimilar a purpose. He looked up and noted that Tony was high up in the sky along with three small helicopters; the three were twisting and turning around each other at incredible speed, while Tony flitted between them like the best Quidditch players he knew – and without a broom. Glancing back to his own foe, he found Stane completely still, staring.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but I don't much like barbecue." Harry said, ignoring the blooming pain in his side - whatever rib he'd broken wasn't getting any better with his constant movements, and he couldn't very well petrify his torso, without needing St. Mungo's to sort it out - which didn't exist here.

"What the  _fuck_  are you?" Stane asked, his voice unusually high-pitched.

"I've been called many things, from freak to Chosen One. I just call myself Harry." Holding a Shield Charm in place, Harry focused on his foe's forearm – it was already damaged from the Hulk's assault, and wouldn't take much more, he was certain. Walking slowly forward, he focused a barrage of spells on that one spot, already resigned to having an audience; he'd have to deal with that at some point, but it didn't seem important now. A few of the curses were stopped either by going off mark due to Stane's movement or by sizzling out against solid objects in their path, but one slipped through. It was one of his nastier spells - it would probably count as dark, though he didn't know if it had ever been classified. Snape's version of the severing charm. The suit's entire forearm detached and fell to the ground, severed neatly at the elbow by  _Sectumsempra._ Stane didn't make a comment about it, but the fact that he took a step back was quite enough.

The Hulk came near again, and Harry froze. Dozens of vehicles that appeared to belong to the army were converging on the Stark building, many of them heavily armoured and bearing enormous guns. They probably wouldn't take Bruce down, considering the kind of damage the Hulk could take, but they most definitely could blow up both Stane and Tony who were right in the crossfire.

Transfiguration? Useful as it was, compared to most of the rest he'd shown to S.H.I.E.L.D. and others, it would probably top the list as far as dangerous abilities went, and he was already considered a threat as it was. Thankfully nobody seemed to have picked up too much on his manipulating plant-life in the Amazon. Regardless, he'd need something powerful and not so obviously magical. Well, it couldn't be helped. He'd have to go big, and he already knew that the public had seen some serious fire. He squinted up at the sky. "Tony! I'm going to try and isolate us from the army's vehicles – please stay clear!"

"Hey, saw that fireproof trick, it was neat!" Tony made another pass. "Stay clear of  _what_?" He dodged out of the way of gunfire as the three UAV's tailed him closely; one exploded in a fiery hail of shrapnel as it was hit dead-on by a repulsor blast, but the other two didn't give up so easily.

Harry, meanwhile, concentrated on a move he knew would work. He'd used it before – not often, but enough. Stuffing his wand in his pocket, he reached into his mokeskin pouch, and in a single movement he grabbed the Elder Wand, raised it high into the air, and prepared.

"Ready for a little taste of your own medicine, Stane?" he yelled, smiling viciously. Circling the wand over his head, a stream of liquid fire burst from the tip, similar to the large suit's flamethrowers, but far greater in range. The concentrated gout of flame reached up far into the sky as it spread with every rotation of his wand; soon it circled the entire parking lot, isolating himself and Stane from the army and the Hulk within a monstrously large and wild storm of furious flames as he kept twisting the wand over his head. This had been the spell that Dumbledore used to keep off the Inferi, the time they'd hunted a Horcrux together; this had been Harry's own tool of choice when facing more of the creatures in the years after.

For once, Tony didn't have a quip – he halted in the sky and gaped as Harry stalked forward; the fire was out of his control now, and it would burn until it ran out of fuel.

Stane snarled something unintelligible as his suit suddenly straightened – and a twin pair of boot jets fired, scorching the ground as it slowly, very slowly, rose into the sky. Raising his wand before him again, Harry jabbed it down towards the floor forcefully. The giant metallic suit crashed to the ground as if its engines were suddenly cut – it sank to its knees at the sudden incredible pressure, its lights sputtering and the jets short-circuiting with sparks.

"This… is impossible!" Stane said, letting out a pained gasp. Harry frowned. Nothing that he'd done so far should have hurt the man inside; he'd been focusing on the suit. It took him but a moment to realize what he'd missed – he'd ripped off one of the suit's arms, and disrupted whatever kept the inside isolated; although he could deal with radiation well enough thanks to his magic acting to protect him, no such thing was true for a Muggle. If he wasn't quick, Stane would simply die, and this whole chaos would be worse than pointless.

An explosion overhead signalled the destruction of the last two of the suit's drones; they collapsed in a heap just outside the ring of fire that still divided the battlefield.

"...Holy crap, man." Tony said at last as he descended next to Stane's prone suit. "You're a Pyrokinetic  _too_? Please don't come to my prom, whatever you do." He shook his head, looking over the flames. "Before I geek out over that, we need to get Obadiah and Banner out of here - Hold on."

With a single sharply aimed blast of the repulsor, Tony utterly destroyed the brightly glowing energy source in the centre of Stane's suit, and it immediately slumped to the ground. Opening up the top was easy, now – it had been magnetically sealed, it seemed – and a bleeding and grey-skinned Stane came into view, his eyes closed.

"I think he's comatose," Tony observed. "His heart rate's pretty constant and low; I figure he must've collapsed after that last hit you gave him. If you want to keep him alive at all, I'd suggest getting him to a hospital, pronto."

Harry nodded. He grabbed a communications device on the inside of the suit, yanking it out with one good pull – it was handy enough to serve a different purpose. He put it on the edge of the suit, grabbing his wand and tapping the device; it glowed blue for a moment. He quickly swept his wand by his throat as well, or he'd blow everyone's eardrums right out from this range. One of the downsides of  _Sonorus_ , he supposed.

Tony had his eyes fixed on the Elder Wand, Harry was certain. "Hold on a minute, is that a… is that a  _magic wand_?" It took a few moments before he nodded. "Right, you are a freaking real-life sorcerer or warlock, or something. Take physics and bin it, I guess. Any more reality-altering revelations you're going to toss my way, today?"

Harry groaned. "Later – just keep it to yourself for now – well, Bruce knows. It's irrelevant, as right now you're going with Stane," Harry said shortly. "This will take you quite a distance away, to some 'friends' from S.H.I.E.L.D. who will detain and treat crispy, here." He rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Just tell them you're with me, they'll leave you alone. Might want to hold off on introducing yourself, though – they can be persistent."

"Alright," Tony said, flustered. "Forgive me for being briefly baffled that you're  _Merlin_."

"Merlin's been dead for centuries," Harry said distractedly, as he slumped - his arm and side were beginning to seriously hurt, and he suspected that he'd have to fix them before long. "Thanks for the compliment, though." He handed over the Portkey, and tapped it meaningfully. "It's two-way, if you get into serious trouble."

"Whatever you say," Tony answered, still out of it. "What are you going to do? The army seems busy at the moment, but they won't forget you. I don't think anyone will forget you after this, honestly."

Harry tried to ignore the twinge of worry that forced its way to the forefront of his mind. Every television would be broadcasting his face, he wagered – he'd well and truly shot the Statute of Secrecy to pieces, now. Shaking his head, he concentrated on the now. "I'll see to it that Bruce gets out of here, Tony – either I'll get him somewhere safe so he can turn back, or I'll apparate with him, teleport as you know it, and let him finish raging in the wilderness. Your job's to get Stane to someone who knows what the hell they're doing, so he stays alive. I'm thinking that whoever supplied him with that power supply isn't planning fun things, and he might be the only lead.'

"You know, when you told me you were consulting for S.H.I.E.L.D. I hadn't really imagined  _this._ " He blinked. "Do you reckon they have another spot free?"

"I think I must've turned Fury's hair grey with what happened here - that is, if he'd had any. I can't imagine what he'd do if you were to show up, too." Harry smiled wryly as he put on his cloak properly, rather than down his back; he vanished from the neck down.

Tony's face lit up in an instant at that. "Stealth! Excellent, something I actually know about!" He frowned. "What with the alien thing, I'm not going to find myself hanging from the ceiling without skin, will I? _"_

Harry rolled his eyes. "Please keep your weird fantasies to yourself."

Tony took hold of Stane's arm, ignoring the jibe. He paused for a moment. "This might be a strange question: Wasn't the dog in that awful Star Trek prequel thing named Portus? It's strangely famil-"

* * *

"They're gone, sir."

Fury sighed, dropping into his seat. "It was over before those bastards could do anything," he muttered, and smiled. "Tell Coulson that he did well – I only spotted one group of drones making it anywhere near the fight zone. The army might've noticed the anomaly, but we've seen no evidence that they traced it to us."

Coulson and his team were supposed to be backup – what they ended up being was the cleaning crew, mopping up the pieces after several walking nukes decided to have a little fun in downtown LA. Thankfully the conflict had remained isolated to a relatively small area, though it would be reported on every news channel on Earth within the day. Already live camera footage from surrounding buildings was making its way onto the news channels.

" _The clash of titans in the city of Los Angeles seems to have died down – although nobody is quite sure what happened here today, several Stark Industries employes were interviewed after fleeing the area, and report that a fight broke out between two of the combatants, one of which was later backed up by reinforcements. The army is clearing the area so that inhabitants can go back to their homes. Speculation on who is involved runs rampant. Several home-made videos have surfaced that display a being described as a 'green bigfoot' or 'hulk'. Another amateur video shows what appears to be a man made entirely of iron, which resembles UFO reports from the area. Finally, several eyewitnesses claim to have seen a cloaked man who can fly and generate fire from his hands, though no clear video has yet surfaced of this individual. Claims of a fourth party have been denied by military sources, which are tight-lipped about the events and have supplied no explanation for the incident, or the participants. Further information will be broadcast as we receive it."_

By tomorrow, some of the best-kept secrets he knew would be out in the open for all to see – and he couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. Half the city had seen the tail end of the clash. Dozens of videos were all over the internet already, and it didn't look like there would be an end to them. At least S.H.I.E.L.D. itself wasn't part of the package. Only Harry was one of theirs, sort of, and yet… Fury didn't know what to think. Harry – was powerful. Incredibly powerful. The way he'd torched that place as if it was nothing, he was a one-man war machine if he wanted to be. Yet, he'd only used them now. He'd had that kind of ace, and still agreed to join the extended S.H.I.E.L.D. forces, while he could've easily forced his organization to keep a wide berth. It didn't make any sense.

"Director, we're picking up a transmission from Base 12," Triers reported. "They claim a large red-and-gold robot and an obese man just appeared in their fountain. The former verbally antagonized S.H.I.E.L.D. officers, but claims to be an ally of Harry's. He also identified his prisoner as Obadiah Stane, the target. Seems like the mission's a success after all, sir."

Fury stopped pacing. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Banner has vanished off the army's radar, and tracking teams have been sent out by the army, though they don't appear to have a very accurate fix, given the width of their target area."

Fury nodded. "I suppose that went about as well as it could have – while exposing several secrets to the world, and causing millions of dollars in property damage." He shook his head. "I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to explain this to the Council, much less the President. I'll need to figure out what went wrong, and fast. Do we have a location for Harry?"

"Here, Director," a voice said behind him, and Fury whipped around. Standing ten feet behind him on the next level of the bridge stood the wizard, looking thoroughly exhausted, his arm hanging beside him at a strange angle, and his clothes slightly singed. He looked at Fury with a sheepish expression, holding his side. "That went a bit different... than I planned, obviously. Sorry about... that."

* * *

"It was no fluke." Heimdall shook his head.

"If you say it, then it must be so; you see Yggdrasil so clearly. What shall we do?"

"I must speak to Odin - he will want to know about the newcomer. About the traveller. It is a matter of time before he finds himself in the halls of Asgard, I suspect."

"I will arrange a meeting."

Heimdall nodded, glancing back at the Bifrost. "Mayhaps one of us will descend to Midgard."

"We shall hear what the All-Father says."

"As you say."

* * *

"We didn't capture a single one." Captain Blonsky shook his head, spitting on the battered and burned remains of one combatant. The giant suit in question was slowly being loaded into one of the covered trucks the army had brought along, surrounded by people in close-fitting radiation suits, though it was dangerous to go near the thing, even with those.

"We might not have captured any, but this clash was hardly a fruitless one," the General said, walking across the battlefield; nothing stood upright in a wide radius, and fires still raged in the distance. He'd watched the entire fight, of course – even as busy as he'd been with holding off Banner, the sudden massive explosion of flames had drawn his attention, like it did everyone else's. For a little while, the firestorm had prevented anyone from even getting close. "I think we can bump Scotty up a couple risk levels, don't you think?"

"He went toe-to-toe with Banner and now this suit – without even a protective jacket," Blonsky said dryly. "Teleportation, Telekinesis, even Pyrokinesis … he's a walking wonder. Someone's managed to one-up the formula that created Captain America, I think."

General Ross frowned. "He's no physical powerhouse – I don't see another explanation that makes sense. Unless we're talking  _supernatural_  powers, here. This guy's the closest thing I've ever seen to a bona fide psychic, and a nastily testy one, at that. I'm upping priority on this project – we  _need_  a blood sample. Between the physical prowess of Banner's formula and what we could derive from Subject Scotty's blood – we could be looking at a whole new kind of superhuman."

"What do you mean?"

"Imagine soldiers that can do what he does – appear at a moment's notice, deflect even the strongest of blows, create fire from thin air. They'd no longer be  _Homo sapiens_ , the Wise Ape – no, they'd be stronger, faster, and capable of impossible feats. They'd be  _Homo superior_."


	15. Wizards

Fury paced into the infirmary with a nasty scowl on his face, nodding at one of the nurses. Three heavily armed S.H.I.E.L.D. units stood near one of the hindmost beds. In it lay the most recent consultant of the organization, and as of this morning, the scariest bastard on the carrier: Harry.

He waved to the personnel and they filtered out of the room, until only he and the patient remained. Fury's mind raced as he considered all the repercussions of the last twenty-four hours. It was less than a day ago that Fury had been considering where to allocate inevitable budget cuts, who to assign on guard detail, how to keep an eye on an ever increasing number of targets. A day ago, even Harry himself was one curious detail on a list of issues to be tackled, although one with an infuriating ability to evade S.H.I.E.L.D. security forces.

Now – now things were different. The people who triggered it probably didn't realize– they'd been in hiding, away from the explosion of furious phone calls, terse e-mails, damning notices. They hadn't seen the full effect of their little war yet. The world just got to see, on live television, what kind of wonders now walked the Earth. Worse, politicians and criminals the world over viewed those broadcasts, and knew that a new kind of weapon was making its way into reality. They were spectators to the definitive proof that impossible things were no longer so impossible, that the world itself would no longer be the same. Even the army's considerable resources broke against a mere few such marvels.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to prevent these things, Fury had already realized – that was one of their mandates, and it'd been one of his personal goals as well. They weren't succeeding. Perhaps, at one time, they could've stopped the future in its tracks. They could've stopped progress from inevitably culminating in something like this, where a single individual has within his hand the ability to destroy a small army, and nobody knows who is holding their strings. These newcomers were too strong, too destructive, beyond any control. Conventional weapons might as well be peashooters; advanced weaponry scarcely did any better. It had to be the cutting edge and nothing less to keep up with them, and even S.H.I.E.L.D. had trouble keeping that up.

The army tried to solve the problem by shooting at it – a lot. That hadn't worked out so far. Politicians attempted to lay claim to the tools that had made the monsters they now feared – and that hadn't worked out either. No, a new plan was needed – a new method to counteract the worst of this new era. The World Council was resisting the idea, believing it impossible. They'd begrudgingly allowed a single 'consultant', and even there it was a fight. That wasn't enough – there were always greater threats out there. What was needed was new initiative.

Fury walked over to the unconscious body of Harry – the man had arrived at the Helicarrier worse for wear. He'd been looked at warily by practically everyone who'd been paying attention to the video feeds, which were even more impressive than anything the public had seen. When the man had almost collapsed, though, two agents had sprung to his aid. Harry had been recuperating in the infirmary since, though S.H.I.E.L.D. medical personnel had only been able to do some basic treatment. Harry's arm was still a mangled mess, for one, and unnaturally stiff; the doctors didn't even know where to begin counteracting  _that_.

Fury had been studying videos of the incident in LA for the last few hours, interspersed with more phone calls and worrying reports than he honestly thought possible. The images he'd seen on the net were remarkably high in quality, though shot from very far away. In most, Harry walked steadily and without hesitation – he didn't look injured, and only the slight limp and stiff arm gave any indication of the damage he'd sustained, especially from a smack by the Hulk – that's what the media had decided to call Banner. Hulk, the iron man and the cloaked man were each shown in the media, with an occasional shot of Obadiah Stane's giant suit. The revelation that the large suit was a Stark project stolen by Stane in the wake of Harry's attempt to capture him had become clear in the past few hours, and he could finally build a decent timeline of what must've happened.

Now, Harry – he'd just thrown every regulation they'd already had in place right out the window with his little show. Far beyond teleportation or floating, his ability to withstand a point-blank flamethrower and then return in kind had made absolutely everyone sit back in shock and awe,  _especially_ politicians and defence contractors, who recognized what that meant. Creating a firestorm from thin air that could incinerate everything in a hundred feet radius, deflecting missiles with a careless wave, walking through fire as if it were nothing – Harry was something else, something beyond human.

Alien, some whispered – Fury honestly couldn't blame them. Another popular description, first used in religious programming and spreading to the news soon afterwards, was a view of him as a demon or a sorcerer who had gained his abilities from contracts with the forces of hell. This, at least, Fury outright ignored. Whatever Harry was, he'd chosen to avoid hurting people wherever he went, even willing to surrender to S.H.I.E.L.D. forces that were keeping guns aimed at him, though he could easily take all of them out, just to allow an acquaintance of several hours a chance to flee.

He was a walking nuke. Yet… he was Fury's walking nuke, now. Not officially S.H.I.E.L.D. employee, and definitely way too dangerous to consider hiring, but an ally – going above and beyond to take in the target. Then, of course, there were his 'friends' – and through Harry, perhaps they too could be aimed away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and towards its enemies. The enemies of the world.

"How long will you be standing there like that? It's creeping me out."

Fury shook his head as Harry opened his eyes. It figured the man would be eavesdropping. Fury cleared his throat. "You're finally awake. Good. We have a large bill that requires paying."

"What happened? That ceiling's way too white. Am I in the hospital wing again?" Harry groaned, and then blinked. "Oh. Right." He stared at Fury. "I'm on the Helicarrier, aren't I? Damn, I must've fallen down, or something." He glanced at Fury, eyes sharp. "How long have I been out?"

"A few hours," Fury said. "You went out like a light, apparently from the wounds you sustained in your fight at the Stark building. Whatever you did to your arm is preventing us from doing anything about it."

Harry glanced at his broken appendage and grimaced. "Right – I'll take care of that later. I have some ways of getting it back in one piece, but it's going to hurt like hell, and I think I need to be conscious, now." He smiled wanly. "It'll be like old times again – it's been years since I broke any bones seriously enough to require a bit of creativity…"

"I'll be interested to hear how you'll go about mending  _that,"_  Fury said idly. "Right now, we need to talk about the scuffle at the Stark building," Fury glared warningly as Harry tried to make a joke about that phrasing. "You were sent in on a simple retrieval mission – take in the subject, and don't make too much of a mess. I believe you forgot part of those instructions."

Harry groaned, turning in his bed and looked surprised that his ribs weren't poking him in the side anymore. Finally, he sighed. "I screwed up back there, I admit it. I underestimated Stane, a lot, and he took advantage of my ignorance and sense of fair play." He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he sat up. "The device – he used some kind of paralyzing sound to incapacitate me. It felt like my muscles were locked in place, and I couldn't move a bit – perhaps if I'd had a little more time I could've figured something out, but he fled before I could try anything." He shook his head and frowned. "I'd never even heard of something like that. I was expecting a gun, and my mistake nearly cost me my life."

"The device in question was found on Mr. Stane's body, and is currently in the S.H.I.E.L.D. labs. It seems to be an adapted version of a technology developed by Stark Industries, years ago. Likely he held on to one of the prototypes after it was declared unsafe and development was discontinued," Fury explained, glancing at Harry. "It affects the nervous system; it is likely that you will retain some side-effects from the exposure for a few days, though they should be minimal. Trembling, twitching, that sort of thing."

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place," Harry muttered. "I seriously need to read up on this technology business." He cursed as he sat up, grimacing. "I was an Auror, for crying out loud. More than half a decade of that, and I almost get killed by an electronic gadget? Pathetic."

Fury shrugged. "I do not disagree that you fucked up. What's an 'Auror'?"

"Law enforcement among… people like me," Harry said shortly, looking away. At Fury's alarmed gaze, he raised his hand tiredly. "Don't worry; you don't have to get all fussy. I'm the only one I know of, around here."

"What exactly  _are_ you?" Fury asked.

Harry sent a troubled glance his way. "You should go with what you know – and if you ask what I can do, perhaps I'll be honest about that as well… but no promises. At least I can tell you I'm still not a threat to you, unless you go and attack me yourself."

"The fact that we know next to nothing about you, does not sit well with my superiors," Fury said. "In fact, it does not sit right with me, either. If you're going to maintain that position, and want to avoid everyone asking about it, I would suggest that this is where you remove your public persona from the one that is now plastered across the headlines."

Harry shook his head. "Why should I care what S.H.I.E.L.D.'s superiors want, exactly? I'm not your employee; I'm at best a collaborator."

Fury smiled wryly. "Each and every one of my superiors is either intensely curious or terribly afraid of you, and what you could do. When you did your whole human torch thing back in LA, you upset a  _lot_  of people and influenced a lot of politicians regarding their arms and defence policies; the fact that Banner and Stark were there just made things even worse. Between all of you, you've got a lot of people running scared that you're the next breed of terrorists. Stark's trying to do damage control, but it's a tough job."

"Stark?"

Fury stared sharply. "You don't need to play dumb, with me. Stark dropped Stane off at the base, hacked into the computers at our forward base, and managed to figure out the location of the Helicarrier within fifteen minutes." The Director rubbed his face tiredly. "He's been here in that fancy suit of his since this morning, and he has already used my personal communication facilities to make a press broadcast regarding the obvious. He's claiming ownership of both the 'Iron Man' suit, and the second, which he considered an inferior prototype that had been illegally enhanced by subversive elements in his company."

Harry nodded wearily. "Tony decided to reveal himself, then?"

"Only to me," Fury said lightly. "I believe he was convinced that my intentions were good when he found you in our infirmary, rather than the brig. My insistence that he take off his helmet or get the hell off my property might have had something to do with it as well."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know him that well, but he wouldn't trust you."

Fury grimaced. "He didn't. Stark's made sure that numerous sensitive files will automatically be sent across the web should he decide I've broken the agreement. Files he should not have had access to, and which… I do not wish to become public." He stared at Harry with narrowed eyes. "The Iron Man is now known as a Stark Industries creation – its appearance on the Helicarrier should help with smoothing out the rough edges of our cover story for yesterday's events."

"…What's that going to be?"

Fury raised a small digital pad and read from it. "The 'Iron Man' is a new tactical suit designed by Stark Industries – that much stays the same – and was created specifically to serve as elite bodyguard for Mr. Tony Stark, who has had to deal with numerous assassination attempts in recent years." Fury smiled as he handed over a digital pad. "Here are the details. The Mark I is described as an older heavy-duty model of the suit – which is close enough to the truth - which was taken by an enraged employee. Said employee, in a fit of rage, released an unknown biological weapon into the area to destroy the entire region and poison Stark's reputation, but lost control of it."

Harry blinked. "…Someone's supposed to believe this?"

Fury raised an eyebrow. "A ten-foot green brute tore tanks into little pieces, two giant robotic suits were throwing each other into walls, and  _you_  were setting the world on fire with your bare hands. I think the public will believe just about anything at this point; they certainly won't get any crazier." Fury sighed. "Mr. Stark has announced that he sent the Iron Man to help with the fight when he discovered what was happening at his facility. Our sources have confirmed you as an undercover government associate assigned to research possible double-dealing within the Stark company. The army chose to intervene but ignored numerous S.H.I.E.L.D. calls to avoid firing at their own forces and Stark's suit – that is completely true, incidentally – but thankfully UAV's were in use, and no soldiers were killed. The army only have upwards of a billion in hardware damage."

"That's not half bad," Harry admitted, and then scowled. "But – what will the army think, now that you've claimed  _me?_  The public might buy the generic 'government' thing, but they'll know, won't they? And when did I give permission to tell people that stuff, anyway? I thought the whole secret thing was kind of important."

"Ah, but there's the good part," Fury said, smirking. "The army knows about you and your consultancy – but they won't tell anyone, and it's not like they weren't already after you. Now they just have to go through legal pathways instead of shooting you out of the sky, seeing as S.H.I.E.L.D's involved. The public – they don't know  _anything_ about 'Harry' as a member of our organization and they have no way to connect the media blurb from a few weeks ago with what they saw on television. All they know is that what they saw turned out be some kind of special agent. Don't give them the connection between those two."

Harry was silent for a while, finally muttering something. "Two identities. Bloody hell."

"The newscasters have already started calling you by all sorts of names – Stark's claimed 'Iron Man' for the suit, obviously; Banner seems to have ended up being called 'Hulk'. Can't tell you what they're on about with regards to you, but I'm sure it's something appropriately ridiculous, too. Last I heard it included nonsense like 'Phoenix' and 'Pyro'. Admittedly, the most enthusiastic out of all those inventing fancy names for you, is probably Stark." He shook his head. "Figure out a way to hide your face, and you'll have your wish – anonymity off duty, but still able to blast giant metal suits into little pieces in your spare time. The perfect job, I reckon."

"…I'll think about it."

* * *

Heimdall stepped into the gloomily lit hall, his boots tapping against the stone harshly as his eyes roved over the banners that hung on either side, forming a corridor down the middle of the fire-lit room. He didn't come here very often: his place was by the Bifrost Bridge, where he held vigil over both Asgard and the other realms with his acute senses, greater than most any Asgardian, save Odin himself.

The mighty walls of the centre of Asgard were almost stifling, the company often – unruly. Heimdall preferred his solitude, but he was willing to tolerate the place for a little while, to speak with the All-Father.

"Heimdall? What're you doing here?" a voice exclaimed from the end of the hall, and Heimdall couldn't prevent a tired groan from escaping. Volstagg, one of the Warriors Three – and one of the most annoying people he knew. The portly Asgardian raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be guarding the bridge?"

The Gatekeeper sighed. "The worlds will not end with my brief absence, Warrior. Do you think I have stopped watching, now that I have left my observatory? I, who can sense the flapping of a butterfly's wings a thousand worlds away?"

"No need to get testy," Volstagg said with a huff, retrieving a few grapes from his pocket and contentedly eating them. "Still, you're not exactly the type to come by for a pint."

"I am here for a meeting with the All-Father." Heimdall replied shortly. "We shall speak later, Volstagg – now, I have news to deliver. There are events occurring on Midgard that require  _his_  attention; I fear that others may be sensing what I am, as well, and they may not all be friendly. This could be a grave portent."

"Alright, alright…" Volstagg shook his head. "Go about your business. I've got things to do anyway. Maybe see if I can find Fandral, though he's probably powdering his cheeks again."

Heimdall passed the man by without another word, walking through the large doors at the end and towards the grand throne room.

Twin curled horns appeared as a third figure emerged from the shadows, looking after the departing Gatekeeper with a vague smile.

* * *

Wincing, Harry watched Fury walk off, gingerly feeling for his mokeskin pouch and thankfully discovering it was still firmly attached to his belt, even if he was missing most of his other clothes – it was enchanted with a mild Muggle Repelling Charm so it shouldn't catch attention, and it seemed it'd done its job this time. Delving through the contents, he quickly found his wand and pulled it out, shoving the Elder Wand aside; hopefully he wouldn't need that one for a while.

Well, now he was all alone. He quickly scanned the room but, for once, there didn't seem to be any cameras around. He tapped his broken arm and muttered 'Finite. He could barely hold in a cry as his arm suddenly slackened and the bone shards groaned and shifted; that arm had to be in at least six pieces. It had to have been the adrenalin that kept him going. This was something he'd usually need Madam Pomfrey for, or another proper healer; he'd never been very good with such spells. The cracked wrist and ribs from his original run-in with the Hulk had been easy enough to fix with what he knew; everything was still pretty much as it should be. With his arm like this, he was basically begging the Muggles to amputate the whole thing.

"I never thought I'd say this, but… Lockhart, you were good for something." Closing his eyes in anticipation, Harry pointed his wand at the arm and said: ' _'Brackium Emendo._ " The arm slackened. The pain quite suddenly vanished - right along with his bones.

Harry had researched this particular spell some years after he'd left Hogwarts, curious if it would actually have worked for someone more capable – mending serious broken bones would be quite a boon, after all. He hadn't found a clue, and concluded at last that Lockhart had thought the whole thing up on the spot – and it was quite lucky that he hadn't ended up with sixteen fingers or an extra head.

"Well, this wouldn't make anyone suspicious at all," Harry said as he retrieved a bottle of Skele-Gro from his bag. It, along with a small dose of Polyjuice Potion (which would, hopefully, last for a while under all the preservative charms he'd put on them) were really the only potions he had that were completely impossible to recreate, here; magical species of plants or animals were mandatory, and there was a notable dearth of them, here. Others, though, were less so: If properly brewed, and with the right application of spells, mundane ingredients could suffice for quite a few of the simpler brews, and he'd never had a knack for the complex stuff anyway.

The bottle was a ghastly thing: It was shaped like a ribcage with two spindly skeletal arms surrounding the label, which read: 'Skele-Gro, 1100 drops. Bone Regenerator. Bone-fide results every time'. The whole thing was topped off with a lid shaped like a skull. Acrid fumes escaped as soon as he wrenched it open, fumbling with it akwardly, and the awful stench didn't make things much better.

Pouring a little into the skull, which doubled as a cup, Harry stared at the mixture with distaste. He remembered quite well the few times he'd used it in the past, most notably his second year, after Dobby's attempt to 'save' him on the Quidditch pitch. "Well, down the hatch." Drinking the stuff in one big gulp, he just managed to stop himself from gagging; it burned all the way down to his stomach, and he coughed violently. Sometimes Wizarding medicine was the  _worst._

The door opened then, and Harry quickly stuffed the bottle of Skele-Gro back in the pouch, attempting to look asleep.

"Yeah, that's not going to work with me." Tony said as he stepped over. He had a few bumps and bruises, but aside from a few bandages, he looked fine. "I left the car outside, put the alarm on," he explained with a smirk as he slouched into the chair next to Harry's bed. "How are you doing, Gandalf?"

"Mending," Harry said, as a tingling feeling began in his arm – good, at least the Skele-Gro was working. He hadn't suffered through the awful potion to go without the awful pain that would soon arrive. "I broke most of the bones in my arm… a few times each, I think. I'll be fine, though."

"Super-Healing, too. You know, I am suddenly not so surprised," Tony said, glancing at the floppy limb. "You don't have a bone left in there, do you?"

"Nope, but they'll come back." Harry shrugged at Tony's strangely attentive look. "I'll let you study a bit of the stuff that does this, when we get back to Malibu. If I can keep an eye on the sample and destroy it afterwards."

"Copyright, I get it," Tony muttered, prodding the arm. Harry rolled his eyes. "So, Merlin, are we going to have that talk now, or do you want to wait till big green and ugly is around again?" Tony frowned for a moment. "Where is Banner, anyway?"

"He's probably back at your place already, or heading there," Harry said. "I bet Pepper or Jarvis will contact you about that at some point. After the fight was over, I followed him without being seen, and threw a few charms at him that worked well enough last time – they didn't really do much, but the Hulk finally reverted after he'd lost is pursuers. I gave Bruce a Portkey and some clothes before I used my own. I figured he wouldn't enjoy being carted to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. As for your original question – it doesn't really matter. Ask what you want."

"There was one thing that kind of stuck with me from that little dust-up with Stane," Tony began. "That place was bathed in lethal radiation, yet the bald guy who runs this place claims that there's no damage he can find whatsoever. What gives?"

"Well, I can't be absolutely sure, but I think it's similar to why I don't pick up regular diseases, like the rest of you..." He blinked at Tony's wide-eyed stare.

"Immunity to disease? Period? This just keeps getting better and better." The man leaned forward, smirking. "So, was I right? Are you an alien?"

Harry sighed. "I'm a wizard, Tony." After a long pause, he elaborated. "Broom-flying, wand-waving, turning people into frogs and back, conjuring things from thin air. You know,  _that_  kind of wizard."

"I suppose I have heard… well, actually, I think that  _is_ the craziest thing I've heard," Tony muttered. "So, what, magic is  _real?_ All of it? Witches, cauldrons, magical floating castles in the sky? Well, I suppose considering where we are, that would be redundant…"

"Most of those, yes," Harry said, fishing into his pouch for his wand again. He raised it before him, and Tony's eyes widened to huge proportions.

"…Where did you just take that from?" Tony asked with an awed voice. His eyes tried to focus on the mokeskin pouch but kept sliding off. "I know there's definitely something there, but I can't actually look at it – an actual SEP-field, instantiated in reality? It's far too localized, too…" He paused. "You have a TARDIS on your belt."

"...It's a pouch."

"It is bigger on the inside than the outside?" Tony asked, and at Harry's hesitant nod, he smiled brightly. "Told you. Though, I suppose… you don't happen to travel through time and space, do you? Rescuing people from danger, standing up to big bad overlords and smiting them down?"

"…Not the time part. Not in the last few years, anyway."

Tony narrowed his eyes, as if briefly sceptical. Harry thought bemusedly about Tony with a Time-Turner – he'd probably find a way to give his own ideas to his past self, or something. Finally the billionaire shrugged. "Well, I suppose if magic's real, I might as well believe in dragons, too."

"Nasty critters, those," Harry answered glibly. "Hippogriffs, though – majestic. Lovely to ride them, and they've got a good memory, too."

"Okay, now you're just being ridiculous," Tony said in annoyance, snatching Harry's wand away from him, and inspecting it. "This isn't the one you were using earlier."

"Yeah… that one's special. This one is too, I suppose: It's my original. Bought it when I was eleven," he smiled warmly. "It's worked admirably well, aside from the time it got broken, but I fixed that."

Tony swished the wand around back and forth. "Hocus Pocus! Abra Kadabra! Shazam! Curious – it seems to be made of wood, but there's no way that a simple stick of wood would really do anything. Perhaps inside? If it's a tool to manipulate things on the quantum level, it might have some pretty nifty Nano-sized mechanisms in there… I wonder what my spectrometer would think of this."

"It's not going to do anything for  _you,_ " Harry said in amusement, holding out his hand. "Let me have that back, before you poke someone's eye out."

"Bio-locked, then?" At Harry's confused look, he sighed. "I mean, only you can use the thing?"

"Eh, any witch or wizard could, I suppose. Not to the same effectiveness, but it works. Friend of mine used a family member's wand for ages – never worked terribly well for him, though." He shrugged. "In any case, you can try to apply your Muggle stuff to it, but I'm pretty sure that's just going to fail. If the Muggle machines will even work, since I've been destroying quite a few electronics over the years." He fished into his pouch and retrieved his telephone – it was off, which would hopefully prevent it from going crazy with all those highly magical items. "This one – well, I've been careful, so it might last a few weeks."

"Great, now I have to magic-proof my suit," Tony muttered. "How am I even going to start with  _that?"_

"Your suit's fine. Whatever that arc reactor of yours is – it's different. Maybe if you let me study one of those, I'll give you some of the stuff I brought with me. Fair trade, and all that."

Tony nodded, staring at the wand again. "Magic's hereditary, then, since you mentioned the boy having a family member's wand? How many of you are there? Oh, crap, did we actually burn your people at the stake?" He paused and blinked. "Well, not that it'd work on you, given the whole 'look at me ignoring that I'm on fire' thing that you had going on…"

"Tony…" Harry shook his head tiredly. "I'm the only wizard you're probably going to see around here. I've certainly not seen or heard anything indicating others are around – and trust me, I would. As for me being a genuine wizard… just keep it to you and Bruce, alright? It'll be tough enough trying to keep the press off my back for this whole disaster with Stane; I don't want  _this_ coming out, too. That's why we had a Statute of Secrecy, after all, to keep the public from finding out. For all they know, I'm just really, really good at whatever technology does the same as what I can do."

"I don't think any technology does what  _you_ do, Puck."

"I'm pretty sure the same is said about that suit of yours,  _Iron Man_. You know, I think I'd have a pretty tough time keeping up with the insane twists and turns you pulled with that suit of yours."

Tony rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I get your point – and I am slightly miffed that you so effectively eclipsed the first prime-time footage of my suit! Well, not eclipsed, so much as  _accompanied_ , but the more time the news spent on you, the more's taken away from me, right? And then there's Banner…"

" _Silencio_."

Tony tried to speak again, his hand rising to his throat in shock. Then he started using sign-language – and Harry realized in annoyance that he was just spelling creative insults, occasionally throwing in a rude gesture just for the fun of it. Harry groaned aloud.

"You're a child in a man's body, you know that?  _Finite_."

"That was pretty neat - vocal cord disabling, or something? As I was going to say, since we're already hogging each other's screen time and you're going to do the whole secret identity thing too, I figure we could make an appearance together, in disguise. I mean, we  _are_  supposed to be the good guys in all of this, right? Iron Man and… whatever the hell we'll call you, showing up together to ensure the world that we're not, you know, trying to take it over. We're not, right?"

"I don't have any current plans. Anyway, we'll think about this stuff after this gets done." He rubbed his arm as it began to sting quite a bit, as if someone was jabbing needles into it. He knew full well it would get far worse before it got better. "Tony – what happened to Stane?"

"Obadiah survived – though his chances of cancer just went through the roof," Tony said lightly. "After what he did, and tried to do, I'm not sure whether I'm glad or not that he made it. I suppose I should feel sorry, or something, but…" He shook his head. "He's down in the brig – from what I understand, he'll be interrogated regarding whoever supplied the very much illegal parts he used in tinkering with my old suit. Which, unfortunately, the army decided to take for itself."

"What?"

Tony nodded tiredly. "The army's trying to get an insight into the suit, I believe, so they dragged it off in the name of 'public safety' and then it vanished into thin air. They probably spirited it away to some secure facility that we're never getting into. Well, not without a lot of explosions."

"I can do explosions," Harry volunteered. "Now, though… what are we going to do, until we figure that out? What are  _you_ going to do?"

"…Nobody knows who Iron Man is, except three people," Tony pointed out. "You, Bruce, and the Director of this place are the only ones who know. You – well, I have your secret now, that works – and Banner knows the value of keeping things close to one's breast. The Director - I can handle that guy. I think I'll keep it this way, until this stuff blows over – maybe tell one or two other people, at most. I'll be my own greatest bodyguard – not a bad idea, I figured."

Harry nodded tiredly. "I suppose that'll work – maybe if I put an illusion on my face or something, I can do the same thing. No way am I going on the news with my own face,  _again._ Quite enough excitement in my life as it is."

Tony smirked. "You can show up with just a blank face or multicoloured hair… no, everyone's already seen it's dark. Maybe glowing red eyes? People would freak out over that!"

"Yeah, they would. I'd like to avoid that." A shiver ran down his back as he thought of himself, pale and with bright red eyes, wielding the Elder Wand. He was terribly, terribly glad that Voldemort was gone, in that moment.

"Well, ruin all my fun," Tony drawled. "Since you already have the whole wizard thing going on, maybe add a beard and robe? All wizards should rock epic beards, I think. I could give you tips, even!"

"Tony… do you ever take anything seriously?"

* * *

"All-Father."

Odin turned slowly, his armor glinting, his spear Gungnir at his side. He inspected the new arrival with narrowed eyes, then nodded in recognition. "Heimdall the Far-Seer. I received word that you wished to meet – it has been many years. Not since the uprising from Muspelheim, in fact."

"There was no reason to meet, until now." Heimdall hesitated. "The news I bear does not hail from Jotunheim, or Muspelheim. Instead, it concerns Midgard, home of the human race."

"We have little to do with it, any longer. The inhabitants remember us, perhaps – in fond memories of the distant past, as the spectres of the gods that they believed us to be, no more. What would alarm you so, that it would bring you here?" Odin leaned forward on his spear.

"It concerns – our ancient allies from the war against the frost giants, a millenium ago," Heimdall said hesitantly.

"The Seidhr are extinct." Odin turned and shook his head. "Mighty as they were, they were struck down. I sought, for many years, all across Midgard. I found not a single remnant of their honoured line."

"No longer." Heimdall stood upright, his eyes bright. "I believe I have found a surviving Seidmadr. He has used his craft to travel the edges of Yggdrasil, making his way through as the ancient ones did, to reach far-away places on Midgard. I did not recognize what I had sensed until today."

"How?" Odin asked, frowning. "There were none, centuries ago – there have been none for years since. How could a dormant line persist for so long, only to reappear now, so very close to the end of my reign as Asgard's ruler? Have the treacherous ones of the black staff returned now, to once more attempt to slay me?"

"I do not know, All-Father. Although I can sense his existence, he is clouded like all the Seidhr of the old days. He's even hidden from direct sight, at times. The power of his craft must be great, if he is able to stay veiled from even my eyes. I believe we must send an emissary, to determine whether this remnant is friend - or foe."

"There is so little time, before the coronation – can we spare such an undertaking, now? The return of our ancient allies would be a great boon, but if they are enemies…" Odin shook his head tiredly, then suddenly perked up. "I believe I know who I should send. She has been bored of late, now that Thor prepares for his duties, and has not seen Midgard in many eons. I shall send Sif, our dark-haired warrior. She shall put the matter to rest."

Heimdall bowed. "I shall return to my station, and keep a watchful eye."

* * *

Harry finally left his bed and wandered out into the halls late in the day following the battle. To his delight, S.H.I.E.L.D. had returned every single item he'd had on him; the only thing that was missing was his old uniform, replaced with a brand new one, which he appreciated. He made a few quick punches in the air to test out his newly grown bones – his arm was as strong as ever.

"Well, you're looking healthy," said an amused voice from the door. Harry turned in surprise, almost tripping to the floor. He'd reached for his wand without realizing it, and nervously rubbed the back of his head. "Hey."

"Little trigger-happy there," Natasha teased, smiling. "I'd watch it, with all the goons with guns around here."

Well, that was familiar. Harry smiled widely. "If you're going to ask if I'm a cat that wandered into a kennel of dogs – I'm pretty sure I count as a lion, now."

Natasha smiled then, quickly walking in. "I couldn't believe it, you know, when I saw you fending off that green monstrosity, in the Amazon. I would've spoken to you then, but you were so elusive." She shrugged. "I can be elusive, when I want to be, of course… Now I hear that you've been put in the same category as Banner. You impressed a  _lot_  of people with those tricks of yours."

"How about you?"

"Ah, Harry," Natasha said and shook his head. "Impressing me shouldn't be your goal: I have very high standards. Perhaps, if you come by more often, we can see how impressive you can be. Maybe we can have dinner sometime, you know. I still cannot believe that you decided this was a good idea, by the way. Blowing up half the city?"

"Hey, I didn't start it!"

"Well, the ending was crazy enough, wasn't it?" She winked as she tapped Harry in the chest. "Don't waste all that, now… It took you long enough to come to your senses and get on the right team, after all. Come find me when you're in the neighbourhood, sometime." She turned and gestured to the door. "Now, what I came here to do, was to kick you out."

"Huh?"

"You're going back to whatever you call home," Natasha said with a condescending smile. "The 'Iron Man' says you've got a ride home for him. He seems impatient."

"Figures." Harry muttered. He looked for a long moment at Natasha, and nodded. "I won't be a stranger."

"Ah, there you're wrong. You will always be that stranger, confusedly looking at the airport, unsure what hellhole he stepped into." She smirked. "Shall I escort you out?"

* * *

"The first test was a success."

"Can we begin the second? Do we wait?" The scientist frowned, running a hand through his hair. "We don't have the isotopes we'll need for a functioning core. We are working with inferior materials, and even the greatest of elements is a stop-gap."

"We could use inferior systems – but that is contrary to our design strategy," the first man pointed out, narrowing his eyes. "The energy source, I agree, is substandard. Gamma radiation is too volatile; we require an alternative. There are several, but none of them are practical."

"We have an alternative, Tarleton. It would work."

"We don't  _have_ it. We know  _of_ it. You know as well as I do that it's hidden well. Whoever obtained the crown jewel of Odin's throne room will surely keep it safe, so we cannot rely on its power. Not until our machines are superior to those who already walk this earth, so that none may stand in the way."

"We could send out our prototype to retrieve the samples, where we can find them, and then enhance the model."

"The Adaptoid is not ready." Tarleton shook his head tiredly. "If we send it out now, it may be destroyed by a persistent attacker, and the rare minerals that went into its creation cannot easily be regained. It is not worth the risk. We cannot send it out until it is ready. We require an alternative element – a rare element, scarcely found on Earth. What we know of has been lost for many years, and none know how to create it, but there are other possibilities." He smiled viciously. "Our African team is reporting interesting findings, after all…"


	16. Heroes

"Warlock. Well, I suppose it does mean Oath-Breaker, that's a bit..."

"Yeah, that's totally what I should call myself." Harry rolled his eyes.

"The Wiz?"

"Hell no."

"Mr. Fantastic? Magic guy? Help me out here, I'm running out of sensible ideas." Tony shook his head and sighed. "At least I don't have to deal with this, the Iron Man thing caught on pretty quickly. Of course, it's technically not Iron, but I won't annoy people too much with that. I'd end up as the Aluminum-Gold Man or something..." He glanced appreciatively over his shoulder, as the Iron Man suit slowly vanished back into the floor in its component parts. "You managed to avoid landing us in the pond, this time. I appreciate the courtesy."

"You didn't struggle like an idiot, which tends to help. I heard what you did to that poor fountain at Fury's place, hopefully that taught you something." Harry pushed open the door and walked into the central area of Tony's basement with a sigh of relief. "You know, for a while there I thought they'd keep us on that ship. I suppose it's good that I made something of a truce with Fury before all this happened, or I'd probably be under a microscope, now."

"You were on a ship?" Bruce wondered as he approached from the stairs, hesitating briefly in the door.

"Well, I don't know if 'ship' strictly applies," Tony responded lightly.. "It hung in the sky, after all. Much in the way that bricks don't." He smirked as he rubbed his neck and winced. "Man, I need to increase the comfort levels on the suit – spending half the day in it is torture on my neck and shoulders. Feels like someone unscrewed my head."

Bruce snorted. "Don't worry, you're quite screwed up already."

Tony stretched as he sat down on the couch in front of the huge television, which was showing, unsurprisingly, yesterday's crazy free for all around the Stark complex. Briefly, the Iron Man suit flitted past the camera as a great explosion of fire occurred in the background. "Did we miss anything?"

Bruce shook his head tiredly. "I don't know what exactly you guys have been up to, but I've been trying to remain calm while every channel I can find is going on and on about us – half the time the reporters don't even seem to believe what they're seeing. It's insane."

Tony kept watching for a little while, grinning as the Iron Man suit soared into the picture in all its glory, its breastplate gleaming in the flickering light of the flames below. "That's pretty cool, actually. Here's something else: I found out magic's real. That's pretty big, too, I think." He smirked at Harry. "It's slightly more incredible than the discovery of the Higgs or Dark Matter, actually. It still loses out to a planet of barbarian women who want Snoo Snoo, but it's close."

Harry rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand down his face. "It's as if you think that if you keep mentioning things I don't get, I'll eventually figure out what you mean, Tony."

"He takes the concept of cultural osmosis very literally," Bruce said neutrally, then smiled. Tony muttered something about cultural blindness. Bruce ignored him, facing Harry. "So, you told him about the, well, impossible stuff. I haven't quite processed that yet, but the fact that you managed to fight the other guy to a standstill kind of gave me pause. I think even he was surprised by that one."

"Hulk," Tony supplied, gesturing to the screen. "That's what they're calling him. Has a nice ring to it. The awesome, amazing, incredible Hulk." He smirked. "You know, if I didn't have my suit, I'd almost be jealous! You have real magic… with that, I'd be turning annoying employees into toads all the time!"

"I suppose I can understand the appeal," Harry said after a while. "When I first found out about all this, I was eleven. I'd done some weird stuff before, but it didn't really crystallize until a giant battered my door down and gave me a birthday cake and an invitation." He smiled sadly. "I went to school to learn how to do magic. It was a bit of an eventful time, but I never once considered going back to what I had before – a boring, humdrum, mundane reality. I suppose it's different, now – Muggles are starting to catch up, it seems. Like the arc reactor, or that suit. Your own special brand of magic, if you ask me. Call me ignorant, if you wish."

"Ignorance, unlike stupidity, is a curable condition." Tony raised a hand to his chest and frowned. "You said something about this. My hand-made little miracle." He tapped the glass that covered the reactor and smiled. Suddenly, he stopped, and glanced up. "Wait – I have this for a reason, not just because it's flashy and gets the ladies. I have it because there are shards of metal buried in my chest, burrowing their way into my heart; the reactor powers a magnet which keeps me alive. That magic of yours, it couldn't...?"

"You have shards of metal near your heart?" Harry shivered.

"Well, could you? Remove them, I mean?"

Harry frowned. "I don't think I'd risk trying to use a Vanishing spell on tiny bits of metal inside your body; you sort of need things in there. Summoning them out would probably kill you in a most horrific way." He paused. "A specific transfiguration may be possible, but I'd have to dive into my books to see if anyone even comments on transfiguration inside a living body – the only thing I can think of right now is something like the Animagus transformation, but that affects the entire physique. Besides, I have no idea what that kind of magic would do, given that you're a Muggle, and you have that reactor embedded in there."

Tony sighed. "I suppose this stays, then." Covering up the shining circle with his shirt, he shrugged. "Well, work on that when you can, would you? You've got time, I suppose. It's not killing me."

"We make quite the bizarre gathering, don't we?" Bruce commented after a while, gazing at the television as it once more replayed footage of the Hulk, Iron Man, Stane's suit and Harry in the same shot, near the end of the battle. "Freaks of the world, unite," he muttered.

"We're not freaks," Harry said sharply. "I've heard that word enough in my life. I like the way Fury puts it, instead. Extraordinary. Magic's always been that, for me. The most amazing thing I know of. In your case, I think you have to look at it from another perspective. The Hulk has spared me twice, now; he had me right where he wanted me, and both times he was content to let me go with only minor damage, while he was wrenching Stane's suit with enough force to turn me into jelly. I don't think he's as mindless as you think. I don't believe he's a monster.

Bruce's expression darkened. "He's hurt people before. Just because you can take a punch doesn't mean everyone else is able to. We were lucky that there were no soldiers near the fight, or I – he'd have torn them to pieces." He shivered.

Harry shook his head. "Whatever that side of you is, I don't think it'll be very healthy trying to ignore all stress for the rest of your life. Suppressing that wild side, that's going to cost you, in the long run." He grimaced. "I knew someone, years ago, who might have told you all about that. Who had his own transformation to deal with."

"Oh, don't tell me…" Tony murmured.

"He was a werewolf." Harry said simply. "Remus – that was his name – was my teacher for a time, and I saw him change into his bestial form, then. The process was gruesome and looked incredibly painful, yet he'd lived with that for most of his life, voluntarily isolating himself around the full moon to avoid infecting anyone else. The werewolf mind – it's not like the human's. It's vicious, ready to kill indiscriminately. In many ways, he really was a monster, during those hours."

Bruce looked away sadly, and Harry frowned.

"He found a way to manage his condition,though," Harry continued finally. "A potion, hard to brew and hard to find, that allowed one to keep their mind while transformed. Still he changed every month, but he didn't have to bow down to the lack of control that usually accompanied his ailment. Personally, I've always thought that at those times, he was effectively no different than an Animagus – someone who can change into an animal at will. His shape changed, but his essence was still there, and that's what counts."

Bruce mused for a long time, while Tony fetched himself a drink. Finally he turned to Harry and nodded. "I appreciate your – compassion."

"After you live with magic for a while, the weirdest things start becoming quite normal," Harry said, smiling. "I've had half-giants and werewolves for friends, and even a fantastic little house-elf. I think I can deal with a loud green rage monster, too."

"For what it's worth, I'll pitch in on finding a way to control it," Tony said. "I can only throw money your way, really, but that does tend to grease the gears a bit. Besides, us extraordinary folks have to look out for each other, right?"

"I really shouldn't have picked a term that would stroke your ego even more," Harry muttered. The television screen shifted to show the best picture of Harry that was available; the image was incredibly grainy, but Harry could only really recognize the invisibility cloak - bits and pieces of him vanished behind it at times - and the vague blob that was his face; it might as well have been anyone's face from this distance. Beyond that, the only thing he could really recognize was the dark blue of the label-less S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform he'd worn. Compared to the Iron Man suit or the Hulk, the best pictures of him were awful.

Excellent.

* * *

When Pepper descended the stairs to the basement half an hour later, she found three exhausted figures lounging before the television, two of them snoozing, while Tony was tinkering idly with his laptop.

"Hello, Pepper," Tony said after a few moments, glancing up at her. "What is it?"

"If the Paparazzi got a picture of this little scene, I think you'd be running damage control for a month," she answered wryly, pacing over. "What did you do, talk about science until their eyes couldn't take it anymore and they had to refuel?"  
Tony shrugged. "They're lightweights – no appreciation for quantum indeterminacy at all."

Pepper stepped forward and slapped Tony, glaring. "Half of the Stark building gets destroyed, a bunch of robots disassemble each other on the parking lot, and  _you_  decide it's a good idea to vanish off the face of the Earth without even informing anyone of your departure?"

Tony rubbed his cheek and tried to smile. "Pepper, it's not like that… That Iron Man there – that's one of mine. My creation in its first conflict. I couldn't just stick around here and wait it out. You know me well enough to figure that out."

Pepper looked sceptical. "So, what, you decided it would be a good idea to get close to this mess, instead of looking at it on the television screen like sane people?"

"Pepper-"

"Don't." She stepped forward and hesitated. "Tony – it's reckless even for you, to head into what's essentially a war zone. It's not the first time you've done it, either. You could have at least let me know that you were safe. Instead, I have to hear from Happy that you were back home." She glanced at the two sleeping men and sighed. "It's bad enough that you decided to let a few homeless people take your couch, and eat your food. I suppose it's a small blessing that they're the decent kind."  
"Homeless people?" Tony repeated, blinking. "They're not vagrants."

"Do they have somewhere to live?" Pepper asked flatly, and Tony hesitated.

"Homeless. I understand you took them with you, too. Are you trying to get the company to toss you out entirely? There's eccentric and then there's crazy reckless."

"Now, don't exaggerate the risk I was in," Tony noted wearily. "I swear, I was in a secure, bulletproof location the entire time," he added. "I was well out of reach of the explosions, too. The only reason I didn't contact you was that I had a lot of other stuff to do, then, and my phone was somewhere without a proper signal. I had to deal with the most infuriating Director, too…"

Pepper sighed. "Tony…"

He paused for a while, just looking at her, then he nodded in acquiescence. "You know that I'll be careful. I have the Iron Man to do the heavy lifting for me, now. I'll be fine."

* * *

The descent was swift, as it always was. It had been many years since she'd set foot on Midgard, and much had changed, or so Heimdall claimed. Arriving with a sudden explosion of light, Sif slowly rose up from her crouch. For miles around her, there was nothing but barren desert.

"Well, this is promising," she muttered with a sigh as she took that in, and she shook her head. There was a little town in the distance filled with ramshackle houses and dust-covered fronts, and it looked unimpressive, even for the ages of the past when she'd visited this place. Striding into town, the only identifying mark was a sign that just said 'Puente Antiguo', which told her little. There were some people on the street – a few looked at her funny, and she mused that it was probably her armor, or the swords strapped to her back.

Finding her target would be difficult – since she wasn't nearly as far-seeing as Heimdall, all she could do was go to the last known location and hope for the best; she'd have to give the Seidmadr a message of some sort, and see how he'd react. Their kind had a penchant for vanishing into thin air, but at least they'd stand out somewhat among the crowd of normal humans, considering their incredible abilities.

Sif trudged into a small and decrepit bar, running a hand through her hair as she tried unsuccessfully to blend in – admittedly, her attire made it difficult, and the place was nearly empty.

A small group of men were gathered around a dingy old television on the far end of the room, and Sif wandered over, curious.

"I'm telling you, they skipped us entirely, and went straight for Los Angeles. Can you believe it?"

The tall, white-haired man who had commented frowned at the screen, which showed what appeared to be a gigantic green creature rampaging through buildings. He turned and Sif noticed that his shirt had a large green oval face with massive eyes, vaguely reminiscent of a Skrull, with a bright purple 'I believe' written across it. "You know, this is a bit different than I would've expected..."

"I always thought they'd be little green men," A second man said. "Who would've thought?"

"Excuse me," Sif said, stepping in between the two. "Those things – where did they happen?"

The two looked at her like she was crazy. "Where have you been the last day? On another planet? This is only the biggest media circus since – well, since the last big one!" the first declared. "Aliens in Los Angeles! Finally we're vindicated!"

"Well... technically it's flying robots, giant green humanoid creatures and people who can shoot fire out of their hands," the second countered. "That's seriously not normal – they have to be extraterrestrial. It's the only explanation, right? And the robots can fly, I bet that they're the UFO's we get here all the time, too!"

Sif studied the screen; though the giant green man was peculiar, it was the small figure, cloaked and distant, that held her attention the most. The figure raised his hand and a great wall of fire erupted, setting a vast region around him ablaze with massive towering flames.

"This was in Los Angeles? Where is that?"

The first man blinked. "Um, it's like... six-hundred, seven-hundred miles west of here. Are you an immigrant or something? What's with the fancy stuff you're wearing, anyway? Renfair?"

"Thank you for your help," she said simply, stalking out of the bar without another word. She knew where to go, now; only the Seidhr could do that kind of manipulation of the elements - or the right Asgardian. She needed to find some proper transportation, and there probably weren't any easy options. As soon as she left the little town, she broke into a run, getting ready for a long and boring few days. Although it wasn't terribly quick, she could keep pace far better than any human, and at least arrive in somewhere a little less remote.

She was vaguely amused as she imagined the Warriors Three running the distance - great fighters through they were, she had no doubt each would complain at length, citing at least half a dozen reasons why this was decidedly against their code of honour, or something like that.

Far in the distance now, beyond even her keen senses, the Bifrost activated once more.

* * *

"Ah, come on, I didn't know you were being literal. Give me a break! Besides, you have plenty of the stuff, what's a few drops going to do?"

Harry ignored Tony, who glared down from the ceiling, dangling down from his toes which were firmly stuck and wouldn't budge.  
"Harry, come on. The blood's rushing to my head, and that's never a good thing. I get all kinds of crazy ideas and half of them aren't physically possible, and that's maddening!" He paused. "Wait, maybe now they are possible? Could you make something unbreakable, even if physics says it should shatter into little bits? Maybe you could enchant me a suit so it floats right out of the box and assembles itself around me - nah, that's probably a bit fanciful. You wouldn't mind using a few of those fancy spells of yours for my research, though?" He sighed finally, relenting. He crossed his arms and sighed.

"You really did this one to yourself," Bruce added lightly, looking up from his book. "I mean, if you know that pointy things and me don't really combine that well, what did you think would happen if you tried to stab a wizard?"

"It wasn't stabbing," Tony argued. "It was a pinprick, with a small needle, even. That doesn't count as dissecting, does it?"  
"Whatever you say, bat-man," Harry muttered distractedly. "Bruce – have you been following the news? I'm reading the latest, and they've finally gotten to talking about more than amazed reactions and the army saying nothing."

"Really?"

Tony nodded. "I can read lips upside-down: You'll be surprised how often that skill is useful. From what I can tell, they're all trying to put the blame on someone, but none of these papers can decide if it should be my company for not securing their weapons well enough, the ' terrorist' who started the whole thing, or the army, who failed to stop it. They haven't started on accusing me personally yet, but I bet that's next."

"Yeah, they'll probably start blaming whoever created the 'biological weapon', too," Bruce added sourly. "I suppose the only reason they're skipping you, Tony, is that you've only recently come back from being abducted, and haven't had too much to say about anything for the last four months."

"Actually, this is kind of a good thing," Tony responded. "Obadiah did a lot of things – his disappearance has thrown things into disarray, and the failure of security at my facility allows me to completely revamp the company. Throw out everyone that's involved with this mess and start with fresh heads working on new ideas. Expand a bit into new areas, you know. Clean energy, stronger alloys, manipulation of the basis of reality via superhuman allies…" He smirked. "The Iron Man should allow me to make clear to the public that I'm willing to lend out my services for serious threats, without requiring payment – well, beyond what I already earn – which should help with swaying popular opinion."

"You've got it all figured out," Bruce observed, and then snorted. "You know, I just can't take you seriously with your face red like a tomato. Maybe it's time to let him go, Harry?"

"Let me go?" Tony repeated, glancing down towards the floor that was at least ten feet away with some trepidation. Harry nodded and pointed his wand at the billionaire, who paled. "Can you put down something to land on, please? Wait, don't just…" Tony hit the floor and bounced slightly, his startled gasp cut short as he realized he hadn't broken any bones. The solid wood floor felt like a trampoline, and he studied the sensation for a few long moments with some awe. "Direct manipulation of atomic connections through a gesture - that's fantastic."

"Now, stop trying to nick my blood," Harry said. "If you do it again, I'll leave you there for the night. There's way too many magical ways to abuse blood, and I'm sure there's Muggle ones too." He shivered slightly, thinking back on that day in the graveyard. His hand subconsciously strayed to the scar on his arm.

Bruce looked away uncomfortably, putting down his book. "This whole affair in the city – are we going to see that kind of thing again? With the Iron Man in full view of everyone, people will be coming to take a shot at you, at least. The same with you, Harry. Are we just going to end up becoming the lightning rods for all the crazies of the world?"

"If need be," Tony retorted shortly. "If they're after us, they're not after other people, who can't take and dish out damage. You already know why I went back to Afghanistan; I want to make a difference. We took out Stane – do you think the army would've stood a chance against that suit? The radiation alone would've killed nearly anyone else who even came close. The only reason we're still alive, and Stane went down, is that we're different, and that makes us the ones to take a stand. If not us, who will?"

Harry chuckled. "Suddenly calling us the trouble magnets make a lot of sense." He glanced at Bruce. "You know, when you figure out this whole allies and enemies thing, you can be one hell of a force for good, too. Not for the fame or the glory – I'm sure you'd rather be anonymous, like myself – but because it's the right thing to do. I had a headmaster once, who told me every person has a choice between what's right, and what's easy." Harry closed his eyes for a time, and smiled wryly. "I suppose it was inevitable, that I'd get roped into being some kind of world-defender again. I do tend to take the hard way. If he were here, I'm sure the headmaster would be smiling like he'd known it all along."

"I wonder what Director Fury will do, when he finds out about this," Tony said in amusement. "He can't do much against me, since I'm so high-profile, and I don't even know what he could do to you, given that you're a veritable Houdini. As for Banner – well, he can try to mess with the big guy at his peril, I suppose. He'd be pretty screwed if any of us ever seriously disagreed with him."

Harry nodded in amusement, wondering how on earth he was going to maintain a second identity, when his first already gave him plenty of problems. If he wanted to stay anonymous, he'd have to be pretty thoroughly disguised, and unlike the other two, he'd have to manage it on his own. The invisibility cloak was an obvious first step; it could be strapped around his shoulders so he could vanish at any moment, and it'd already been seen on video footage anyway, so he'd hardly be exposing anything particularly new. What he really needed to consider was wearing some kind of hood or cowl. If he'd been a Metamorphmagus like Tonks he might've had other options, but he was wary about transfiguring his own face, especially repeatedly, and other alternatives he had weren't terribly practical. Given the kind of power that Stane had displayed, he'd also be using the Elder Wand – at least for the big stuff – which brought his thoughts to the final Hallow he'd taken with him from his old reality.

The Resurrection Stone was a tool like the others, he was aware. He'd used it before and the spirits it summoned were real enough, but insubstantial; he wasn't sure, if given the choice, he would've wished for such a power. He'd only used the Hallow three times after he'd picked it back up from the forest floor – the first time to see Ginny again, just after the terrible events that took her life. The second time he used it to speak to Sirius, Fred, even the Headmaster, right before his decision to leave. He still remembered the stares of the first two, though Dumbledore had, as ever, merely looked at him with a small smile.

The third time – that had been here, on this side. He'd promised that he'd contact Dumbledore again, when he reached the other side. Only the vaguest wisp appeared to him, like the ghost of a ghost, incapable of speaking at all. Still, the figure had nodded before disappearing again. The dead were beyond his reach – or at least, the ones from his own world. In this new reality he did not know anyone who'd died, and he dearly hoped it would stay that way.

The Deathly Hallows – he'd never used them together. Each of them had been in his pouch since his arrival, but he'd only ever taken the wand, or the cloak, or both, but never the third as well. Perhaps it was because of the legend – Luna's father had talked about the Conqueror, Vanquisher, Master of Death. What precisely that entailed he didn't really know – long-standing rumours held that it implied some type of immortality or longevity. Some claimed it granted a connection to Death itself, a personification of inevitability. Whomever you asked, though, it always had to do with owning the three Hallows, not just one.

He already was the Master of Death, so Dumbledore had told him. Not because he had all three, but because of the way he'd put each to use – but was that just metaphor? Were they just three powerful magical artefacts with their unique properties and nothing besides, or was there truth to the story? Truth to the gifts of Death?

"Harry? I think he fell asleep with his eyes open. Wizards do that, right?" Bruce muttered suddenly, and Harry perked up.  
"I'm awake - I'm just thinking," he said, gazing at the Stone in his hand. "That press conference you mentioned, Tony – you're planning that for tomorrow, right?"

"Yes… though I haven't quite figured out all the details yet. Usually I sort of wing it, but I think that would be a bad idea, here. I might just end up blurting out the truth, and imagine what havoc that would cause!"

Harry smiled, staring again at the Stone. "Tony, this might be a stupid question - but can you make more than armour?" he snorted at Tony's affronted look. "I have something – a jewel – I'd like you to make a setting for. I'll go over the details later, but I just wondered if you could do it. It's… personal."

Tony nodded. "You know, it'll be pretty strange if Iron Man shows up for the press conference, but Tony Stark's not here to introduce him, given the whole bodyguard story - you don't happen to have a way to be in two places at once? You know, Multiplicity style?"

"No…" A grin made its way to Harry's face as he glanced at Bruce. "But… I have something better."

* * *

"This is confusing and terrifying," Bruce said as he looked down at his hands. "Also, it's scientifically implausible and I'm trying not to be too much like Tony and think of all the terrible uses this stuff could have." Gingerly he felt the beard that had sprung from nowhere. "I thought you said it would taste fine, by the way? That stuff was vile. You tricked me!"

Harry smirked. "Come now, Bruce. I'm a wizard, that's my business."

"Hey, stop touching my body!" Tony said in annoyance, stepping closer and glancing down in concern as the floor groaned under the weight of his suit. Then, he paused. "I just realized that sounded very wrong. I think I've found something that Pepper would find more disturbing than that time she caught me- "

"Tony, we only have about five minutes left," Harry said urgently as he fastened his invisibility cloak with a small golden-and-red brooch; right in the middle of it was the Resurrection Stone, shimmering slightly. He glanced at Tony – the real one – and smiled. "The Polyjuice Potion should last for an hour – that has to be enough. Just in case, keep the flask on you in case it starts to wear off, since I don't know if being a Muggle would have any strange effects on the stuff, and try not to show how disgusting it tastes."

Bruce muttered something uncomplimentary. "You know, I think I've reached my quota, as far as turning into other people goes. Changing into Tony Stark wasn't exactly one of my life's ambitions."

Tony snorted. "I've always wanted a life model decoy, but this works. Though, I admit, creepiness factor of a billion. As long as you keep your hands where I can see them, we'll be fine."

"Tony!"

"Yes, Tony?"

"You know, I think I made the world a little worse," Harry added with a groan. He flipped his hood up and his face disappeared in darkness, thanks to a well-placed Obscuring Charm. His eyes were the only identifiable feature still visible, since covering his eyes with the obscuring charm too would just lead him to running into everything. He'd decided on the hood after trying a host of others, most of which were terrible. Tony had offered a bunch of different helmets he'd designed for the Iron Man suit, but they all looked silly. A disillusioned hood to match his cloak worked better - the Muggles in the conference hall probably would realize that the two weren't attached to each other, and he was hardly going to disabuse them of that notion. The shimmering effect of the loosely draped cloak and the semi-invisible hood made him look suitably mysterious, he thought.

"Wish me luck," Bruce said as he realized that everyone was ready to go. He straightened his shoulders and walked towards the stage with a forced smile.

"I hope he doesn't make me look like an idiot," Tony muttered. "Have I ever told you that a tendency to break reality is a very annoying trait to have, when you're hanging out with a scientist?"

Bruce cleared his throat, and the two turned to pay attention to the stage - they could only see Bruce from here, and they'd already made sure that they were the only ones backstage. If they couldn't serve as security, he didn't know who could.

"As you might have already surmised, this press conference is a follow-up to my brief statement yesterday, and concerns the events of this week, which led to the destruction of a large part of the Stark complex here in Los Angeles." Bruce looked up and frowned. "Involved in the conflict were several  _extraordinary_  individuals, one of whom is a Stark employee, and another is a, shall we say, friend. We cannot be specific in that regard, I'm sure you understand how this works." Bruce gave another fake smile and moved on. "Due to far-reaching rumours and a lot of misinformation, both have agreed to answer several questions, as long as they are pertinent to the mentioned events and do not concern internal company politics."

"Mr. Stark! A question for you!" Someone yelled, and quickly others followed. Bruce looked uneasily out over the throng as he swallowed. Tony shifted in his suit, muttering something, though Harry couldn't catch it.

"Any questions related to me personally, I will gladly answer at length at a later time – you all know I will – but keep it topical, now. We don't have all night. I won't hesitate to tell my bodyguard to toss you out – and I don't think you'd like it." He smiled genuinely then, and the real Tony let out a sigh of relief as he stepped onto the stage, his suit completely closed up with twin glowing eye-slits roving over the crowd.

"This, is the 'Iron Man', as it is popularly called in the media," Bruce continued, faking pride quite well. "It is one of the latest Stark Industries creations in the field of personal transportation and defence, as you may have seen on private footage. The Iron Man serves as my bodyguard and was in the final testing phase, when it was forced into early use due to a terrorist attack on my property." Bruce tapped on the suit. "This, is the future. There is no mass-production: It is a testing platform. Its capabilities are significant, but due to security concerns related to the technology, it's staying Stark property and may be loaned out for other purposes only on my say-so – and only with its pilot."

"Who is the pilot?" Someone yelled, and Tony took that as his cue.

"I am simply the Iron Man," he stated, looking decidedly imposing as he put a step forward. "My identity will remain unknown, as per my own request. I am Mr. Stark's bodyguard and a test pilot for new technology. Yesterday, I also served as a defensive force to protect Stark interests. That will be all."

Bruce glanced aside and Harry gulped as he slowly stepped into the room, stopping right next to Tony. The entire hall was filled with people, he realized – hundreds of them. It seemed like they all suddenly began taking photographs, and he blinked against the flashes. He had been the most elusive to get a picture of so far, and everyone wanted in, it seemed. Thankfully, they wouldn't get very much.

"It's the Magician!" someone yelled, and even more pictures followed. Harry wondered briefly who on earth had said that - then another repeated it. Harry walked on without turning to them, pausing next to Tony.

"Magician?" Harry whispered sharply. "Seriously?"

"Well, they had to settle on something. At least it's not ridiculous," Tony muttered, and Harry groaned as he saw several journalists furiously scribbling something down.

"Ahem – the  _Magician_  is an expert in atypical particle and wave physics and the practical applications of probability field manipulations, which are likened to the traditional belief in magical powers," Tony said, talking right over Bruce. Harry rolled his eyes at the description. "What you saw yesterday was a small sample of possible applications of such knowledge, especially when it comes to personal defence. Right now, he is also the only expert that I'm aware of in this particular field. I would pay attention."

After a few moments Harry spoke, and his artificially lowered voice sounded remarkably severe, any trace of his accent gone. "Though you call me the Magician, I have never claimed that title. Still - you can call me whatever you wish, I am as anonymous as my colleague."

A tall, red-haired man stood up, and Harry could have sworn it was Percy Weasley for a split second. Then the man opened his mouth and the thick Southern accent ruined the illusion. "Why do you conceal your identities?"

Tony gestured towards Bruce. "My employer, Mr. Stark, has many enemies; his recent abduction should make that much clear. I cannot serve as a good bodyguard if I have to serve as my own every hour of the day." Tony glanced over to Harry and gave a slight nod. "I am sure my colleague would say the same."

"Due to the nature of my craft, I too prefer not to show my identity in public, to avoid undue attention," Harry added softly. Making himself seem mysterious was pretty easy – and it would definitely help separate him from the shy face they'd seen in the papers when Tony and he had arrived in America.

A dark-haired woman raised her voice, then. "I am sure this is a question that has occurred to many here: How can we be certain you are any safer than the two weapons you were seen fighting?"

"That seems unfair," Bruce said before either could answer. "The theft of the suit and unleashing of the biological weapon were the actions of a terrorist threat that infiltrated Stark Industries, and I have already announced a good spring cleaning of the whole place to prevent similar occurrences in the future."

"But how can we be sure that you can be trusted?"

Harry paused for a moment, and Tony nodded at him. Squashing his nerves as best he could, Harry - the Magician - spoke. He looked over the crowd before him, grimacing. "How can we be trusted, you ask. One can never be sure, of course, and I will not lie about the danger of these times. We've seen, very recently, where the world is headed; the future has taken root in the present, and we have to be ready for it in any way we can. The Iron Man stands vigil for peace, not for war. So do I. There are others, who have yet to be seen, who carry the same torch." He glanced at Bruce, then. "Yes, there will be new evils in our future, new threats. This will not be the last time that something incredible occurs that we cannot easily grasp, that we can only react to. Each of us knows that humanity isn't perfect, and that the worst of us can influence us in ways that we cannot now predict. But we know as well that for every evil, there is a good. Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right; be heartened that there are those who make the right decision. There are heroes, even now."

* * *

General Ross turned the broadcast off, shaking his head.

Magician was what they'd called him, then. Well, he couldn't say he was terribly surprised, after what he'd seen. Throwing around invisible forces and flames, not to mention manipulating flora and emotions... If that wasn't greatness, he didn't know what would count.

Supernatural powers - Ross wasn't as baffled by their appearance as he would have been, even five years ago. He'd seen some crazy things in his career, and though Bruce Banner was awfully close to the top of that list, he wasn't alone. He'd seen someone - some thing - doing things he knew were impossible. Psychics existed - in one form or another - and he'd just found another.

Picking up his phone, he quickly tapped in a number he didn't use very much - he was on a secure network so he wasn't afraid of someone listening in, but there were risks in keeping in contact with a group that the government formally designated 'terrorists'.

_"Tarleton."_

"This is Ross. You've been watching the news, I take it?"

_"Avidly,"_  the other side answered.  _"The Iron Man and the Magician. Some kind of guardians of goodness, or something trite like that."_

Ross sighed. "Regardless of what they call themselves, they're powerful. You already have the experiment back - when can I expect the first serviceable version which can withstand the kind of damage that was inflicted?"

"You will have your part of the deal in three weeks - if you deliver us the blood we requested. Do be quick about it."

"I will," the General muttered darkly, as he glanced outside to see Blonsky, jogging. "I have the perfect way to get at it."

* * *

"Couldn't they have decided on a better name?" Harry muttered, frowning.

"It's been two days, Harry; what's done is done." Bruce shook his head tiredly, as he moved off to the kitchen. "Being called a magician is perfectly respectable; heck, they got pretty close to the truth with that one, didn't they? I suppose it was the cloak that did it. I'm glad they didn't call me the Jolly Green Giant."

"Come on, it's a cool name, and it's all magic-like too," Tony responded. "Reverse Psychology, that's how it works: Everyone will assume you're using technology to mimic actual sorcery. I mean, invisibility has been coming for years now, and nano-scale technology's already quite advanced, it's not unthinkable. Besides, maybe my description was entirely accurate."

"I worry what the public will think if I get really creative with magic. I think even you would freak out, and you're already over the whole ' there is magic' hurdle," Harry said, studying the brooch that held the Resurrection Stone. It was embedded in a small segment that could turn if he wanted to - he hadn't really informed Tony of the reason, but the man was willing to oblige. He'd had each of the Deathly Hallows on him, at the same time, and he hadn't noticed anything different. Did that mean anything?

Yes, he'd acted differently than usual - but that was what he'd planned. His public persona actually had to look like he knew what he was doing; the real Harry had his doubts about that, after the string of recent screw-ups and mistakes. Perhaps Dumbledore had been right - there was nothing particularly special about owning all three, or even using all three. Perhaps 'Master of Death' was just a fancy title.

"I suppose we'll see that when we get to it. I'm sure that the public will even believe in magic, if you get around to showing it."  
"Honestly, I wonder if anyone will realize I am using actual magic," Harry admitted. "I'm not lonely, that's true, but it is strange being the only magical being around."

"I've heard strange tales," Tony said. "We certainly have a lot of legends - perhaps there are wizards, we just don't know about them. Hidden behind their spells and things. I'd never even considered the notion before, but if there's one, I'm sure there's more." He frowned. "I recall reading some tall tales about a gent in Greenwich Village, perhaps you could check that out, sometime. By the way, catch." He threw a small book at Harry, who smoothly grabbed it from the air like it was a Snitch.  
"Electronics for Dummies? Really?"

"Well, you did ask me to help you out, and if you are the only magical around, it's best you at least know a bit about what the rest of us are doing," Tony reminded him. "Of course, when you couldn't figure out how to work the microwave, I concluded you were on the level of 90-year old shut-in."

"I've worked with electronics before," Harry muttered. "I cooked on the stove, I can't help it that the new ones are all digital and weird. Muggles just changed a lot in the years I was away, I suppose."

"If microwaves freak you out, I don't want to know what you'll think when we get to the really neat stuff," Tony commented cheekily as he walked out onto his balcony and sniffed the fresh air.

"I'll read the damn thing. No promises that I'll get it though," Harry answered idly. "Anyway, the phone's new enough for me. It took me four times before I could pick up Natasha's call, you know."

"Natasha, huh?" Tony wiggled his eyebrows.

"Don't even start."

There was a strange whizzing noise, and Tony barely had the time to react before a knife - long, curved, decorated - slammed into the wall a foot from his head, burying itself almost halfway to the hilt. He cursed and threw himself to the floor. Harry stormed outside, a softly shimmering shield surrounding the balcony in an instant as he stared sharply in the direction that the weapon had come from.

"Are you okay, Tony?"

The billionaire grunted as he got back up, staring warily out over the sea - there weren't a lot of places that weapon could have come from, and it had been far too close for comfort. His Malibu home, as it was built right over a steep cliff, was fairly isolated. "Whoever did that has one hell of a throwing arm," he observed.

Harry turned to the knife, and blinked. "Huh. I don't think it was an assassination, for a change."

"Someone threw an over-sized steak knife at me, of course it was a..." he turned and raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Well... that's a creative way to deliver the mail."

"I've seen weirder," Harry said as he removed a stiff piece of parchment that had been nailed in place by the weapon. The letter wasn't in English. Harry glanced up in confusion. "This is written in Old Norse, of all things. It's a dead language, who would...?"

"I'll fire up the computer, I'm sure we have a dictionary somewhere," Tony added brusquely as Bruce looked outside nervously to see what the commotion was about. Harry made sure to spell the window closed and unbreakable - just in case - before he relaxed. He turned back to the letter and frowned.

"I know what a few of the words mean," he said, pointing at the very end of the text. "This here's a name I've seen plenty of times, she's mentioned in a bunch of legends - one of the deities of ancient Scandinavia." He tapped it thoughtfully. "The goddess Sif."


	17. Villains

It took the computer only a few seconds to translate the letter that had been so rudely launched into their midst. It was definitely written in the Old Norse language, which was a dead one, as far as Harry knew.

_"Seidmadr [Sorcerer], I greet you in the All-Father's name. In ages past, before we left this realm, our two peoples were both allies and enemies. We believed you were destroyed in our last war on Midgard's soil. I request an audience in one day's time to discuss your presence and what you must know if you choose to make this realm your home. Not all who wander Yggdrasil have good intentions. – Sif, of Asgard."_

Bruce frowned. "Your  _kind_? Do you suppose she means, well, wizards?"

That was a pretty good question – Harry had no idea if there were any wizards on this world, beyond that he was sure the Wizarding World as he knew it was gone, or had never existed. There could be some – there had been many magical civilizations throughout history, and the one he'd grown up in was really only a recent arrival, relatively speaking.

History of Magic books listed the Norse Wizarding culture as a prominent example of an extinct branch of magic-users, largely taken over by influences from their neighbours until they gave up their unique methods. Few tomes remained with any details, but from what Harry knew the Norse had been mighty artificers and frequently used music and dance to cast spells. They'd vanished somewhere around the year 400 A.D. – Hogwarts and other budding schools had taken over from existing teacher-student relationships, and the Old Gods were no longer worshipped, which led to their demise.

Someone clearly had remembered those old traditions, in this world – perhaps here Wizard-kind had completely gone extinct, and Muggles picked up the pieces? He turned to Tony with a shrug. "I suppose it could be wizards, though I shouldn't make that assumption. Using the names of gods, though – that seems presumptuous. Perhaps it's some kind of tradition?"

Tony shook his head. "First the Hulk, then magic, then  _this_. What's next, the freaking God of Thunder?"

"I'll have to go through my books, I think," Harry mused, ignoring Tony. "I don't know much about the old religions. I have no real clue about Sif, beyond that she's supposed to be some kind of goddess of the earth. Could you find me a couple of good books on the topic? This is pretty obscure stuff, really."

"So, what, we're dealing with a history buff who tosses knives around for fun?" Tony sighed wearily. "It's like being assaulted by Giles from Buffy, it's embarrassing."

"Well," Bruce said carefully, "This one's coming back tomorrow, so I suppose you could just ask her to her face - between the three of us, we can take out a single knife-thrower, right?"

"Yeah, I'm not allowing you within a mile of my property if that happens," Tony muttered. "I'd need not just a new house, but a new  _cliff_." He turned to Harry and raised an eyebrow. "This whole knife thing – is this a normal way of communicating between you magic types?"

"Not that I know of," Harry said with a shrug. "We use owls, usually."

"What, the animal?"

"Yes. They're intelligent enough. There are a couple other birds that'll do the job, but I always favoured a good Post-Owl."

"You have  _teleportation_  and advanced  _matter manipulation_ , but you send your letters with messenger birds." Tony blinked. "Seriously? I mean, I can deal with a lot of crazy, but I can't imagine you were all daft. Even someone teleporting from place to place to deliver letters would be more efficient than  _that._ "

Harry turned to him and shrugged. "It's tradition, I guess. I've never really thought about it. I suppose there's other methods that I can use, but those are generally more for emergencies or the like, not daily use. It doesn't make much of a difference, anyway. Who would I send a letter to?" He shook his head tiredly.

" _Sir, fabrication is complete."_

"Ah, that's my cue to leave!" Tony said as he turned to the other two. "I fixed a few flaws in the suit after Stane nearly wrecked it. It was pretty beat up anyway. I'm going to take this new beauty for a spin."

"I'm surprised you're not calling it a 'her' yet," Bruce muttered.

Tony smiled broadly. "That would work, wouldn't it? I'll go get inside her, now. Make sure it's nice and warm. Maybe we can ride together until the early morn-"

"Oh, god. Please go back to 'it'." Bruce groaned. "I really should've expected that."

Harry nodded. "For a scientist, you can be a bit dim."

* * *

Sif smiled thinly as she ducked behind the rocky outcroppings of the cliff, hanging on to the edge without much effort. Finding the Seidmadr had turned out to be simpler than she'd expected as the man seemed intent on making a lot of publicity. Tracking him and his companions to this mansion had been simple enough. She could sense the resonance caused by his method of transportation, and she didn't even have a particular gift for it. It was like someone lit a beacon in the sky.

The  _Magician,_ as he seemed to call himself, was different than she expected – younger, for one, than all but a few of his kind that she'd ever met. The time to study their craft was generally counted in decades, so there had scarcely been any Seidmadr without at least the first grey in their hair. Also this man had allies that weren't Seidhr – he openly mingled with the normal humans and didn't seem to see a problem in that. She'd have thought him a long-lost descendant, dormant in the genetic stock of common folk, if he hadn't handled his abilities with such finesse. He'd clearly been taught – which implied teachers, and more  _magicians_ like him, that roamed beyond the eyes of even the most sharp-sighted Asgardians.

Sending a message through the window had perhaps been risky, she admitted, but it had gotten the job done. He'd immediately rushed to the side of the man who controlled the metal suit, and used his gifts to protect the others – and they hadn't seemed particularly surprised by that, only by the message. Interesting. She clambered back onto solid land, shifting her sword to her back, where it wouldn't get in the way.

In twenty-four hours, she'd be back here. Hopefully the  _Magician_  would join her. He needed to know of the dangers that his presence was attracting, the baying wolves that inhabited the outskirts of Yggdrasil. It would not be long before the vultures came to roost.

* * *

"Do we simply wait?"

Tarleton snorted. "Wait, for  _Ross?_  Theron, even you know that he's not going to be successful. The regular army has about as much chance of capturing a super-human as they have stopping a tidal wave, or a volcano. They're forces of nature – only the most powerful can stand a chance."

"Then what? String the General along, simply for access to files we have anyway? What's the point?" Theron shook his head. "It just seems like such a waste of time and resources. The suit that Stane used – the army has it, now. What are we going to do about that?"

"The suit in question is irrelevant," Tarleton answered. "It's made with inferior technology, and the irreplaceable element – the Gamma core – was destroyed. The army may recreate it, but it will never work as effectively again, and we are already light-years ahead." He smiled. "The army will focus on that, and forego developing counters to new technologies we're developing. Soon, they will be completely incapable of posing a threat at all."

Theron sighed. "What about the Iron Man, and the Magician, then? They took down the suit – their technology is as advanced as any we possess, perhaps more so. With arc reactor technology as highly developed as Stark's, we're not going to match it with Gamma reactors – the limitations of such an energy source won't permit it."

"They are only two people," Tarleton pointed out. "Two people who are not sharing their technology with anyone else. They can be a hindrance, but they can't truly stop us. They're not even  _aware_  of our plan. When we find the Tesseract – then even people of their ability and technological level will be insignificant."

"So, we do nothing?"

"Of course we do something – keeping them busy and distracted buys us the time we need to complete our projects. They'll chase the wrong paths, fight the wrong people, and then we will see the world brought to its knees, while they are powerless to stop it!" He chuckled darkly. "Send out the XV Seekers – we will take these threats down one by one, if need be."

"I'll do that – but what if the Scientist Supreme disagrees?"

"Do it."

"Fine..." Theron turned to leave and blinked – for a moment, it had seemed like there was someone in the corner – a smiling face. He shook his head and left. It must've been a trick of the light – there had been nobody there – besides, it didn't make sense, anyway. He could've sworn he'd seen  _horns._

* * *

"You know, this would all go a lot quicker if you'd let me read too," Bruce muttered dejectedly, sipping from a cup of coffee as he stared out the window. "You are aware that I'm an accomplished scientist, right?"

Harry tapped the books and shook his head. "Half of these are spelled to look like regular stuff to Muggles, using spells I can't hope to figure out, and the other half  _I_  don't even recognize or understand, despite a full magical education, so you're not going to be terribly helpful there, either." Harry put down his copy of 'One Thousand Herbs to Heal, Harm and Grow Hair', which for obscure reasons had a lengthy treatise on Norse customs, and sighed. "Besides, isn't reading spellbooks and grimoires the wizard's job, anyway?"

Bruce shook his head, staring outside through the windows that Harry had sealed solidly with magic. "You don't suppose that this 'Sif' will return before tomorrow, do you?"

"Probably not – but opening our doors so she can waltz right in doesn't seem the best solution either," Harry answered dryly. He picked up the translation that Jarvis had generated. "She just mentions a day – I guess that's literal, and we're talking a full twenty-four hours."

"It mentions the All-Father, too – I take it he's the leader," Bruce noted. At Harry's unimpressed look he frowned. "What, are you just going along with this Norse deities malarkey? Clearly these are codenames, which means secret organization, which means bad things happening in our future. I haven't had too much luck with such groups, and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hardly any better."

"Fury hasn't been planning my demise for several days now," Harry commented idly. "I think he finally got the message that I'm not trying to torch his flying boat. His paranoia – it reminds me of someone. It's almost like home." He smirked. "Not that he'll have much success trying to block magic. It's like grasping water, except Muggles don't even have the hands to attempt it."

"You're still spying on them?"

"Of course," Harry tapped his ear and smiled. "The only time I can't hear anything is when Fury's washing the damn patch. Which, incidentally, he only does sporadically. Yech."

"You're listening in on one of the most secretive organizations on the planet, which you're supposed to be allied with. You're a bit loony, aren't you?"

Harry smiled. "One of my friends used to be called that – she took it in stride. Water off a Hippogriff's back and all that, right?"

Bruce sighed. "You know, I think I know why you're okay with S.H.I.E.L.D. – despite the whole paranoid crazy organization thing. It's the redhead, isn't it?"

Harry turned and glared. "Well, I'm out of here." He waved his wand across the table and the books neatly sorted themselves. Bruce shook his head in amusement. "How do you know about her anyway?"

"Oh, Tony was quite forthcoming about the 'hot babe' that escorted you." He smiled. "I extrapolated, and your reaction told me the rest. So, you met a lady from a spy agency, and tomorrow you'll meet what could well be a lady from yet another spy agency. I think you've found a niche."

Harry sighed. "Figures Tony would blow that out of proportion. It's just a bloody dinner…"

Bruce just continued smiling. "Anyway, Harry, if you're going out, get some proper snacks, will you? There's this horrible green gloop in his fridge… I don't even want to know what it's supposed to be..." He frowned. "I'd go get it myself, but the army's still staking out half the city…"

"I think it would be risky, yes," Harry agreed sadly. "Besides, we don't want the general public to make the connection between you and the Hulk, and going out to meet the army's a great way to do that." He frowned. "They're also looking for me, I suppose, but I can easily escape. I'll make sure to wear my hood, so I don't have to be too stealthy. They know the Magician's around, after all."

Bruce nodded. "So, what's Tony up to? Still testing his new suit?"

"I imagine he's at work, by now," Harry answered. "Amazing, right? Here I thought he was as jobless as us, considering the time he's been spending around this place." He quickly transfigured his clothes to the darker colours he'd worn at the press conference, digging into his pouch for his cloak and brooch. "If I see Iron Man flying around, though, I'll tell him you said hi."

Bruce shrugged. "I'm sure he's not doing anything too crazy."

* * *

" _Portus_! Come on!  _Portus_! Damn it, why did I have to forget the damn magical teleporting sock?" Tony winced as a white-hot beam of energy seared across his suit. "Deploy flaps!"

Tony shot backwards though the air, tumbling for a few moments before he rocketed forward once more, targeting systems homing in on the nearest attacker with pinpoint precision. His repulsors fired and streaked across the wing of the small aircraft, exposing the wiring, though it managed to evade the full force and banked away.

This really hadn't been his day, Tony concluded. First he got a kitchen implement chucked at his head – which he'd masterfully dodged, of course, though that was besides the point – and then, while on a relaxing trip in his new suit,  _these_  guys show up. They were persistent, quick, and extremely annoying.

He should've spotted them earlier, really. Turning the volume down from Jarvis and the radio, he'd been basking in the feeling of flight – in the thrust of the boot-repulsors, the wind whistling by as the suit effortlessly soared through the clear sky. The kind of thing that people dreamed about, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't.

Then, out of the blue, there had been incredible heat. It had been sudden, intense, overloading even the enhanced internal cooling network, lancing through the armour and sending him spiralling to the ground as he tried to get away. It had taken a few moments for the cooling units to catch up and the thermocouples to divert most of the heat away, then he'd fired up his boots as high as they could go and sped away in a blaze of energy.

There were nine of them – nine drones, quite reminiscent of the type of aircraft he used to sell – he wouldn't be half surprised if they were built from scrounged-up Stark blueprints – and each of them was a hell of a lot more capable than they should have been.

"Can't we talk about this?" Tony quipped as he blasted one of the drones across the side, tearing out a huge chunk of its armour and exposing the insides – unfortunately, it too turned away before he could finish it off, while others approached in its stead. Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, Tony growled. "Jarvis, get the shoulder-mounted missiles primed."

" _Chances of striking one of the aircraft, considering their present velocity, is only – "_

"Do it!" Tony snapped as he banked sideways as quickly as he could, barely missing one of the approaching drones. The instant it passed he blasted it with both hand-repulsors, finally searing through the hull, internal circuitry, and out the other side. While that one went down, a second approached, and Tony lunged for it as it passed by, grabbing the edge of the wing. He was dragged along like a rag doll, his suit barely stabilizing the flight.

" _Sir, this is a highly dangerous– "_

"Damn it, I know what I'm doing! Sort of!" Tony grasped the wing with his other arm, frowning. "Make it up to me by giving me 100% backwards thrust the moment I let go. I'm going to make this a little explosive…"

" _Yes, sir."_  Jarvis almost sounded remorseful.

Tony narrowed his eyes as three other drones passed by. He aimed a shoulder-mounted rocket with barely a thought. Small as it was, that rocket packed a hell of a punch – it was designed for piercing armour and then going boom, which was perfect. "Ready, Jarvis?"

" _I must advise against- "_

Tony fired, releasing the wing. He hurtled backwards at such a speed that for a moment he was plain out of breath, the G-forces preventing him from doing much more than ride it out. In his wake the rocket exploded with a thunderous blast. The shock wave washed over him and the entire suit lost control for a moment, hanging suspended in the air – then it came back on, and Tony let out a sigh of relief. "Well, that was two."

" _Three, sir: One of the other drones was too close to the explosion, and is in accelerated descent. Calculating the current trajectory of the second drone indicates it will crash into a shopping mall."_

Tony cursed, glancing to the six drones still pursuing him, and the one he could see falling in the distance. The other was mere shrapnel. Turning his boots back up to full he thundered down towards the falling debris. "I barely thought about where they'd end up – what about the other one?"

" _It landed safely in an uninhabited area,"_  Jarvis answered.  _"Sir – should I warn the others, now?"_

"The others – oh," Tony pulled up from his downward flight at the last moment, grasping the wing of the falling craft as he flew back up, dragging it along to avoid the mall. When he let go, it ended up crashing right on top of two cars in the parking lot, utterly flattening them. Better than nothing, he supposed. Rising back into the sky, he was just in time to evade three intense heat-beams that were once more directed at him. It felt like he was on fire, and he might as well have been. "Jarvis – call Harry, he's able to fly, isn't he? Tell him to get his butt over here and stop these things from crashing into people. I can blow them up."

" _I am calling right now."_

"Who  _are_  these guys?" Tony turned in mid-air, twin repulsors carving into the armour of the drones, though they were too strong to take them down in one blast, unless he concentrated his fire. "They're not from the army, are they?"

" _I am reading significant levels of gamma radiation, consistent with the enhanced suit Mr. Stane used."_

"Damn it, already?" Well, that was just great. Not only were these murderous automated kill drones in the sky, but they were also owned by a terrorist group with really deep pockets, and evidently quite the grudge. The drones were Gamma-powered, too, which was risky in itself – though they were not nearly as outwardly wasteful as the Stane suit had been. Whoever sent them didn't appreciate his part in what had now, contrary to his wishes, been labelled the Stark Building Attack – he'd voted for the Explosion of Awesome.

" _Sir, Harry is on his way."_

"Good. Listen – I'm going to try a few more tricks – I don't know if these things have their icing problems fixed, but altitude should buy Harry plenty of time to catch their remains, or pulverize them, or change them into whales and flower pots. Tell him that, too."

" _Yes, Sir."_

Tony smiled as he readied his full arsenal. He had some hunting to do.

* * *

"Mr. Harry, I have a message from Mr. Stark," Jarvis said.

Harry grabbed the communication device that Tony had given him – he was glad it even worked – and hit the button. " _Now_  you speak up? Where have you been the last half hour?"

"I was ordered not to report on Mr. Stark's whereabouts – he argued that relaxation required a little silence. I disagreed." If a computer could sound smug, Harry could have sworn it did so right then. "Mr. Stark is engaging several aerial vehicles approximately twenty miles to the north of your position – he requests aid with diverting debris from populated areas."

Harry blinked. "Wait, he's fighting  _right now?_ Tell him I'll be right there – I'm already suited up, I suppose." He glanced down at his outfit and shrugged, flipping his hood over his face. "Tell me exactly where he is, and I'll get as close as I can."

" _I will do so."_

A few moments later, he disapparated.

* * *

"Director, we're getting word of another clash in Los Angeles." Triers turned to his monitors and sighed. "It looks like we're dealing with some kind of aerial drones – technologically advanced, powerful. Iron Man is already on the scene."

Fury growled. He didn't have to guess twice what this was about. Fantastic. As if trying to deal with the fallout of the first attack wasn't enough work. "That's twice in one week! Is there any identification on the attackers, this time?"

"Specifications match several machines we took out last year," Triers answered quickly. "It's a drone that's occasionally popped up in the hands of terrorists groups. We're not sure who's making them since all the ones we've found so far had been thoroughly stripped of any identifying marks. Usually these things are unarmed and used for reconnaissance."

"Those don't look unarmed to me," Fury said gruffly, as a beam of intense red energy erupted from the front of one of the drones, searing across the Iron Man armour. He had a hunch as he stared at them. "Any measurable Gamma radiation?"

"We're reading low levels, but it's definitely there. Stane, again?"

"Stane's in custody, and in a coma to boot." Fury frowned darkly. "Whoever was supplying him with his absurdly effective Gamma technology has just sent out a kill squad. Stane's clearly got friends in high places. Do we have word on Harry appearing, yet?"

"The Magician has been spotted nearby," Triers confirmed. Fury just raised an eyebrow at the title. The screen focused on a video feed of one of the taller buildings in the area. Right there on the roof was a hooded, shimmering figure. "He hasn't done anything yet, though."

"He's the back-up, I'm assuming," Fury muttered. "Keep an eye on both – what kind of forces do we have in the area? What's the army doing?"

"We have aircraft, but they're not nearly quick enough to engage these things. Ground forces are effectively useless." Triers frowned. "Sir – there's something strange about these machines. It seems like they're learning. They're spreading out and targeting Iron Man's blind spots. Their A.I. must be adapting to the situation as they fly."

"Advanced weaponry  _and_  A.I. technology? Who's been getting ahead of us in the arms race?" Fury inquired. This was going to make the Council go absolutely nuts – everyone was getting into unexplored territory where war was concerned, it seemed. The World Council was going to insist on pushing Phase 2 forward – or, perhaps, Fury's own suggestion. He couldn't suppress a slight smirk as he watched the red-and-gold suit dart through the sky, narrowly evading the larger drones.

"Who's been constructing these?" Triers asked as the Iron Man suddenly flipped upside down, its central beam narrowly missing one of the devices, and clipping another's wing. "The same could be said for that suit, for that matter – look at that agility!"

"Iron Man is an ally, remember – find out a way to take out the bogies. I want eyes on  _everything_ ," Fury instructed. "This is definitely a planned attack on an ally. We're dealing with a criminal group that uses technology that the normal military can't handle, and they've got plenty of it to keep us busy. I'm calling it in – as of now, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s getting directly involved."

"What about the army, sir?"

"They can argue about it, later. Coulson, get me Agents Barton and Romanoff. We'll be having a debriefing as soon as those two clowns are done wrecking the city."

* * *

Harry wiped the sweat off his forehead as he slowly lowered the second of the broken drones down to the street, after catching it with  _Arresto Momentum_. There were still civilians in the street – trying to take pictures, videos, whatever else – but they wisely stuck close to the walls. Tony was somewhere way up in the sky. Explosions occasionally lighted up the clouds, and bits and pieces of metal rained down around Harry's position.

It figured, Harry thought, that the moment Tony decides to go out alone, the bastards who worked with Stane would go for another round. Fury had seemed remarkably calm about the whole thing, though. What kind of cockamamie schemes was he cooking up?

" _Harry? These things are getting mighty persistent – there are three left and a straggler. Take out the last one, will you?"_

"Sure. I'm on the highest building directly below you." Harry grasped the Elder Wand, casting a Shield Charm. "I'm ready when you are."

" _Here we go."_

Harry had to squash the urge to get the hell out of the way when Tony appeared, hounded by four drones, their weapons already firing with intense blasts of energy. One of the laser-like beams slashed across his shield, leaving a glowing trail in its wake. Harry blinked to get rid of the spots as Tony passed, but he lashed out with his wand before the drones could get away, clipping one in the back. Its engine quite abruptly turned into a slab of tuna, and it headed towards the ground, its weapons firing impotently at nothing.

" _Get it!"_  Tony urged, and Harry was already on it. Harry diverted the falling debris to land safely on the street rather than crashing into buildings, keeping an eye on the sky. Tony streaked past once more and blasted another of the drones to smithereens, and it landed almost squarely on top of the other; Harry took the chance to get another spell off. The third time Tony flew past, he was alone.  _"Looks like that was the last! The rest are leaving!"_

Indeed, both of the remaining drones were moving off at a quick pace. Harry started and hit his radio. "Tony, I've placed a tracking charm on one of them."

_"I bugged them, too,"_  Tony answered immediately. _"By the way,did I just see tuna on the sidewalk?"_

"Yeah, that was my fault."

" _Huh. It looked delicious. I'm hungry now."_  He waved merrily at the retreating drones. _"So long, and thanks for all the fish!"_

* * *

Bruce shook his head in disbelief. For the second time this week, Iron Man and Magician featured prominently. Yet here he was, stuck behind closed doors in Tony's mansion, like a spectator. Perhaps – well, speculating wasn't going to help.

"Where's Tony?" Pepper Potts asked as she came in, carrying two cups of coffee. "I swear, if he's gone to see his robot fighting again…"

"It's not actually a robot," Bruce corrected. "It's a suit – and Tony called earlier, he's been out of town since this morning. I'm sure he'll call as soon as he can."

Pepper nodded, dropping in the couch across from Bruce. A few tense minutes of silence passed when she finally sighed. "It's just – lately Tony's been so closed off, even towards me. Ever since Afghanistan, it seems like he's keeping everyone at arm's distance. Well, he seems to talk to you, but that's about it."

"Well, we're both scientists, that helps," Bruce agreed. He looked at Pepper and frowned. "If you want my unqualified opinion – I think he's been trying to figure out a way to deal with his past as an arms-dealer, and what his future might be. I think he's found his answer – or is in the process of doing so – but you'll have to bear with it for a while yet."

"I don't really understand," Pepper admitted. "I don't even understand how you came to know him – he's never spoken of you before, as far as I can recall."

"He only knew my work in passing," Bruce acknowledged.

"You, Harry – you just appear out of nowhere, and take over the house! Harry, I could sort of understand – he saved Tony's life, I'm not surprised he would want to make up for that. You - I don't know."

Bruce smiled. "We understand each other – at least a little. We're… friends, I suppose. Allies? Harry calls us the 'Trouble Makers', and I think that's sort of accurate."

Pepper sighed. "I suppose I should be glad that Tony's getting along with actual people, now – he's not exactly the most sociable person, even if he likes parties. Frankly, I'm amazed that he lets you see everything downstairs – aside from me and Colonel Rhodes, I don't think he's let  _anyone_  down there."

"You're more upset that he's been away, that he hasn't seen you as much as before." At Pepper's shocked look he shrugged. "It only makes sense. Tony's been busy with other things. I think it's a matter of time. He has mentioned you, you know. He's hardly forgotten about his life."

Pepper nodded, watching the screen as the video footage ended. "I suppose you're right – I guess Obadiah's disappearance isn't helping either. That man was like a mentor to him..."

Bruce winced. "I'd just wait it out, if I were you. Tony knows what he's doing – he's still a genius, after all."

"Yes – that's the part that worries me."

* * *

" _What the hell were you doing, shooting those things down in L.A. airspace?"_

"Well, we managed to make quite a mess – again," Tony said apologetically. "Couldn't be helped, though, Nicky – these things were pretty damn powerful."

Fury sighed impatiently. " _Stark, the drones-"_

"They were from the same people that enhanced Stane's suit," Tony commented. "We're aware of that."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.  _"Don't follow them, now – we're tracking the whereabouts of the organization in question. It's unclear what exactly their motives were for attacking you, or how strong their defences might be."_

"I think their motives were clear enough," Tony commented. "Those beam weapons – together they were hotter than Stane's flamethrower. Whoever did this – they thought they could take advantage of the weakness that my suit displayed in that fight, literally burning me up. Unfortunately for them, I'd already fixed that flaw. They didn't have secondary weapons – clearly that eventuality didn't occur to them."

"To many, it wouldn't," Harry said lightly. "Even I know that technology doesn't change that quickly."

"Don't be silly. It's been  _days._ "

"Precisely."

" _Stark – S.H.I.E.L.D.'s taking over the investigation. I'm arranging it with the higher-ups, right now. You – you'll be our spearhead, the moment we know anything about anything. Get Banner involved, too, if you think he can help. You're going to have to be my examples._

"Examples of what?" Tony wondered.

" _Examples to show that keeping people like you around is a good thing. S.H.I.E.L.D. cooperation with outside forces will be terminated if we fail to demonstrate that. Get your asses to the Helicarrier, right now, and bring one of those damn drones with you."_

* * *

Bruce jumped up as Tony walked in, utterly spent, and crashed on the couch with a contented sigh.

"Tough day?"

"Ah, it was okay – blew up some robot aircraft, got my brand new suit utterly mangled – I'm surprised it can still fly – and I managed to get myself a date with another such adventure in a week or two. It's great. You?"

"I've been watching the television and… eating your pancakes."

"Monster!"

Harry shook his head as he walked in, flipping his hood back. "Come on, Tony – after more than half a day on the Helicarrier, surely you've rested a  _little_? I swear you slept through the debriefing, too."

"What did I need a debriefing for? I was the one who did all the work! Besides, they had almost everything on camera, anyway." He smirked. "I thought it was neat, seeing myself kicking ass, you know." He turned to Bruce. "Anyway, if you've been following the news – we brought one of those drone aircraft to S.H.I.E.L.D. and they dissected it. They're removing the rest of the drones from the city now; not even the army's getting near. Want to know who's behind it? The same group that Stane was involved with."

"The terrorists," Bruce concluded.

Harry nodded. "We know who they are, now. Fury filled us in on what S.H.I.E.L.D. dug up, and it's not pretty," he noted with a frown. "They call themselves  _Advanced Idea Mechanics_ , or A.I.M. for short. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s had conflict with them before, but they've never gotten active on this level. Apparently, they're usually more subtle, stealing technology and the like without getting caught."

"So, what caused them to get into bed with Stane?" Tony grimaced. "Figuratively speaking. If I were anyone else, I'd be a neatly fried blob on the sidewalk, so it's clear that Stane's not the only one who has a hate-on for my company." Tony rubbed his shoulders and grimaced. "I got awfully close to being flambéed."

"…You're aware what that word means, right?"

"Yes. Drenched with liquor and set on fire. I had a glass or two before I got into the suit." He paused. "Well, maybe a few more. I was relaxing! Stop judging me!"

"You're already doing that yourself, we haven't even started," Bruce responded in amusement. "In any case, this A.I.M. group – what are they after?"

"Me, evidently," Tony said with a shrug. "They were hell-bent on taking out the Iron Man: I assume that we represent competition. You know, we're the other technologically superior force that can beat up the army? Harry, I doubt they think you're magic, so it's probably not just me they're after, either."

"A faceless terrorist group that wants to hunt me down? What else is new?" Harry glanced at the screen, a re-run of earlier footage. It seemed like the news couldn't talk about anything else these days. "Fury seemed to think he could spin this – so we'd come out on top. I hope he gets to it, because the news is roasting us for breaking out in a fight above the city again. Also, Tony – they're mostly talking about you, this time."

"Of course they are – I was glorious."

"Bruce – we have a week," Harry noted, turning to him. "A week before we're going in to take these guys out, wherever they're hiding, so they'll stop sending deadly robots to ruin our day. We have to know if you can be there, too."

Bruce faltered. "…You mean the other guy."

"I mean  _you_ ," Harry answered simply. "Tomorrow I'm taking you out to Nevada – Tony tells me the place is riddled with what remains of nuclear tests, so you won't be smashing anything that anyone might want – or the army's stuff, and they hate you anyway. I'm going to help you figure out a way to get in control. Barring that, to get you to aim the Hulk wherever you want it."

Bruce shook his head. "That's not a good idea – all it'll do is bring destruction. I can't control it."

Harry shrugged. "I believe you can learn."

Tony cleared his throat. "Bruce, I've read all about your accident. That much gamma exposure  _should_  have killed you. It didn't."

Bruce paused for a few moments. "You're saying that the Hulk... saved my life? That's nice. It's a nice sentiment. Save it for what?"

Tony shrugged. "I guess we'll find out."

Harry frowned. "This might be a stupid question, but... aren't we forgetting something?"

"I believe that would be me."

Harry turned on a dime. Behind him stood a tall, armour-clad woman, with a long golden sword strapped to her hip, and a knife on her upper arm. She didn't budge an inch as he grasped his wand and backed away two steps.

"Who are you?"

She frowned, cocking her head to the side. "What do you mean, 'Who are you'? I sent you a letter about my arrival,  _Magician_. Here I thought I was being courteous…"

"You're – you're Sif," Harry concluded. "I should've figured that."

"Sif of Asgard, indeed."

Harry swallowed. "Asgard?"

"The great realm from which I hail. It is ruled by Odin, the All-Father, and home to the Asgardians, whom the humans of this world once thought of as gods. The Seidhr knew us as allies." She smiled sadly.

"I don't know anything about that," Harry said slowly. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Sif grasped for her waist and pulled her sword - it glittered in the sun. "This was imbued with Odin's might," she said, holding it out. Harry gasped as he realized that the sensation from the sword. It was the same as Tony's arc reactor -  _magic_. Whoever she was, this Sif, she had access to something that was very close to what he knew as enchantments, as spells.

"Where and what  _is_ Asgard?"

"Asgard is another realm. Another dimension, as humans say."

Harry nodded in understanding. She, then, was from elsewhere like he was - a traveller from parallel existence. He could understand that, at least; he was one himself, after all. "So, why come here now?"

"It has been many years since Asgardians walked upon this world. The reappearance of your kind, though, was a surprise. I considered approaching you this afternoon, when you were caught up in battle, but you seemed capable of handling it yourself – you and your human friend, here."

"Why do you have to specify that?" Tony asked, stepping closer with a glass of some kind of foul-smelling liquor that he'd conjured up from some hidden shelf, no doubt. "Human? Are you telling me this guy isn't one? Because I've got a bit of a reputation to keep, and I think my initial hunch that he's an alien-"

"Shut up, Tony," Harry muttered. "Sif, then. I don't know who you believe I am, but I can assure you that I'm as human as the people behind me."

Bruce snorted.

Sif shrugged. "You're of the Seidhr – the Sorcerers and Sorceresses of Midgard," she said. "I could sense it from a hundred miles away. Heimdall could do so from Asgard. You are like a beacon in the night, due to your gifts – and we are not the only one who can see it. Threats that might have left this world alone for many cycles – they're coming here. They've already caught your scent."

"…Who?"

"Races from other worlds, far removed from this one. The Kronans, for one," Sif answered grimly. "The Chitauri – though they listen to another master, now. The Kree, if you are very unlucky. Others too, perhaps. Not all of those would be your enemy. With such an array of foes, though, you must think about leaving."

Tony and Bruce voiced their objections, but Harry ignored them."They can sense me from  _worlds_  away?"

"Not just you," Sif allowed. "This world is showing the first signs of growing beyond its infancy, once more. All three of you are symptoms of something larger, and I have sensed others. You are becoming a threat to the established order in the universe. Asgard has observed it happening for a long time, but we did not perceive any interference was necessary, or asked for. The last time we came down – things went badly."

"If I leave, will it buy this world some time?" Harry frowned. "Honestly, I don't even know if I  _can_  leave."

Sif shook her head sadly. "Removing a scrap of meat from a feast will not send the curious wolves back into the darkness. They will be coming – perhaps in a year, perhaps in five – and when they do, it will not matter where you are. They'll destroy everything here." Sif looked away. "Odin All-Father has offered you refuge in Asgard, should you wish it. He ensures sanctuary for his ancient allies, at least."

"Wait, wait, you're speaking of the  _actual_  Odin? The god?" Tony asked, blinking. "Beat that, Scientology."

"If leaving will not fix this, then I have to stay," Harry said morosely, closing his eyes. "If I brought this doom here, then I have to stop it, one way or another. I have magic: I can do a lot of things to help out. And I'm not alone."

"You are the only one of your kind either of us knows about – I'm certain of that. What's coming has consumed entire worlds - you think that  _humans_ could win such a battle?"

"Of course. I think that humans can win any battle that's worth fighting," Harry said, glaring. "Tell your Odin that if he's not going to help us out, then I don't want his safe haven either. I won't save my own life at the expense of everyone else's."

"Bold words – if perhaps foolish ones, as well. To risk your own life to save those you don't even know. You remind me of a few people back in Asgard. I'm honoured to meet you, Magician."

"…Since you've already seen me without the hood, Harry will do."

"Harry, then. If you will not take the All-Father's offer, I am obliged to stay – at least for a little while – to ensure your safety. He has commanded it."

"If you agree to answer some of my questions," Harry insisted. "There are too many hidden agendas at play, these days."

Tony sighed as he realized what Sif staying behind meant. "I really need to get a skyscraper or something if I'm going to take in any more homeless superheroes. Well... at least this one's hot."


	18. Memories

"You've got a smoking hot alien war goddess trying out cornflakes less than twenty feet away, and you're reading a psychology manual, of all things." Tony shook his head in desperation. "What, wizards aren't attracted to babes?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Tony, I'm heading out in an hour, and I thought I'd get some of the basics of what  _not_  to do. Most of my tricks aren't exactly covered here, but I figured that reading what the Muggles might know has some justification. Get off my case."

"Yes, well, what are you going to do with  _her?_  She sort of came here for you. Seems kind of bizarre to ditch her on the second day to hang out with a guy. Sends the wrong kinds of signals."

"You're incorrigible." Harry sighed. "Sif will be close by. No matter how great she claims to be,  _I_ am the one who's been able to at least survive a Hulk assault, and I can apparate whenever the hell I want. Besides, I don't think that Bruce would be interested in people listening in on this kind of thing. It'll be hard enough to convince him to talk to me at all, I think. It might get messy."

Tony nodded, though he looked mildly concerned. "What are you planning, exactly? I can always come by and blast him a bit if that's what you need, just give me one of those freaky socks."

Harry stared at Tony, finally turning away. "The kinds of things I am thinking of aren't exactly the most accepted. I suppose there are no laws around here, but there are certainly moral lines that I'd be stepping over. I'm probably not nearly the best person to be doing this, but there's nobody else. Sorry to say, Tony, you don't come across as the type that understands what it's like to share your soul with something else, beyond lust and a love for strong alcohol."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Share my soul? Are you being flowery and metaphorical, or literal? Because if it's literal, then that's decidedly freaky." Tony paused. "Before I end up having to research Aquinas and Hume, let's get off this subject."

"Let's. Bruce is still asleep; I figure he wants to catch a bit of extra calm before he ends up smashing stuff again. He's not really doing well since the last incident. Tony, I'd suggest just leaving us to our thing and taking care of business on this end."

"So, what, you're going to leave me alone to take on this whole A.I.M. organization?" Tony inquired, sighing. "You'r aware they'll try again before we're ready? They'll probably send another armada my way before you're even in Nevada. Granted, I'll gladly blow them to little bits, but that's beside the point."

Harry tapped his phone and smiled. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is sending some back-up that will be staking out this mansion and a few other likely targets. Fury informed them that you are a major target of this terrorist group, so there should be some backup. I'll leave a Portkey, too." He stood and stretched. "Give my regards to Natasha, if she's there. After I get back perhaps I can hold her to that dinner."

Tony smirked. "Hah, finally, appreciation of beauty! Now, there's the spirit!"

Harry laughed as he fastened his cloak. "I think I'm going to pop around the city, see if S.H.I.E.L.D. has cleaned up your mess yet. Then, I'm going to bash some sense into a large green skull."

Tony frowned. "You really think something can be done in a week?"

"I've had to pull stuff on a time limit before, don't worry. Heck, the first time I really got my Patronus going, I was beside myself. Literally, sort of." He turned to Tony, looking over his glasses with an unreadable expression. "Remind me to tell you about that particular event, sometime. I promised I'd do a show and tell on magic, and I'm definitely keeping that one."

"I'll have an enhanced suit ready to go on our little wrecking trip when you come back. Don't take too long, or you'll just be biting my dust." Tony turned to the door, but paused. "Oh, don't kill each other, okay?"

"Eh, been there, done that." Harry flipped his phoenix-feather wand into his hand and smiled. After the last few days, he'd come to miss his own wand. His own wand seemed friendly and natural, and it reminded him of his Hogwarts years. The Elder Wand felt different somehow; like unbridled potential for destruction. It felt like the weapon it was.

"I won't be bored, anyway. I've already thought of half a dozen new design tweaks I want to try out, and Rhodey's finally back on this side of the ocean. I suppose we can catch up. There's also something about running a company, but I'm sure that'll sort itself out."

Harry nodded. "Hey, could you fetch me a sock or two?"

"What do I look like, a  _dog_?" Tony asked in response, looking affronted.

Harry smirked. "Goofy, smarter than you look, and obsessed with gathering toys? Yeah, I can see it."

* * *

"This is a bad idea."

Harry sighed. "Bruce. The last time we took one of these you were fine, and that was before you even knew what to expect. Portkeys can be jarring, but without too much moving around, the landing's smooth enough. Besides, the alternative is apparating across entire states and that's a pretty daunting task, particularly with a guest along. I'm not risking it."

Bruce just looked annoyed as he grabbed the sweater - Tony had objected that he was losing all his comfy footwear - and cringed when Harry brought out his wand and tapped it. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You're awfully skittish for a guy who can change into a bodybuilder on a moment's notice," Harry observed. "You already smacked me around twice, and I'm still around. Don't worry, things will be fine."

"I still maintain this isn't a good idea," Bruce merely answered, glancing over to the third member of their little group. "You might be able to take a hit, but she probably can't."

Sif snorted, glancing at the sweater in trepidation. "This is some kind of transportation akin to the Bifrost, is it not?"

"No clue what that is, beyond its mythological description," Harry said. "Grab on. You can tell me on the other side."

Sif nodded, grasping the sweater. Moments later the world vanished in a swirl of sound and colour. The transition took moments, and Harry was once more the only of the three that landed neatly on his feet; Sif stumbled for a moment, catching herself, while Bruce once more landed in a heap.

"You know, I think I finally found someone who's worse at this sort of thing than I was," Harry observed as he helped the man up. They were standing just outside a large abandoned shed, surrounded on all sides by a great load of nothing. There was a small dirt road that vanished into the distance, winding its way between a few small hills, punctuated by a few dead-looking trees. It was also surprisingly chilly for a desert, though that would likely change when the day went on.

"It does remind one of the bridge," Sif muttered, then she looked around and frowned. "This isn't very defensible."

"Hopefully we won't need to defend it," Harry pointed out. "It's a large open space with barely anyone around. Precisely what's needed. As for Sif..." He frowned as he turned to her. "Clearly you're sticking around; I'd prefer it if you set up camp a kilometer away or so. If I really think you're needed I'll call."

"Very well," she said after a while, glancing over her shoulder. "It is strange, to be relegated to observer, but I understand that I cannot be of help here." She nodded. "I will remain close, though."

Harry sighed softly as she walked off, leaving him alone with Bruce. The man looked tired already, even if he'd only just woken up, and Harry was certain he hadn't been this nervous since Brazil. Clearly he didn't know what to expect, and Harry couldn't honestly blame him. How many people in this world even believed in reading thoughts and memories, let alone meet someone who could pull it off?

"Let's get started, shall we?"

Bruce just looked on nervously.

* * *

Tony took a long swig and sighed contentedly, looking over the latest specs with half an eye. It had been a while since he was alone in the house, entirely alone, and it was mildly refreshing. Of course, it was also very silent. He had plenty to do, far too much to do, really. Still, at the moment he was just glad that nobody was blowing up his city.

The suit had been repaired quite quickly: Beyond some heat-damage and broken connections in his boot repulsors due to a glancing blow, he'd come out fairly unscathed. Of course, his actual body had absorbed a bit of the energy of those blasts and light burns were slowly healing across most of his body. Thankfully, the pain was minimal, now that he'd taken some medication.

Frowning, he raised a hand to the Arc Reactor stuck in his chest, shaking his head. He'd been trying to figure out exactly what the Palladium he'd put in there was doing to him; nothing good, at least, but his results were inconclusive. Likely the more severe effects of the material would only become clear in time. Unfortunately, he didn't know if he had that kind of time. He could end up being poisoned, slowly, before he ever figured out what exactly was going on. He needed to figure out a better solution. It was a problem of his own making; he should also be able to fix it.

The Iron Man suit, meeting odd people, Stane and A.I.M. Lately it seemed like his life had gone completely nuts. Fun, yes, but also worryingly destructive. His every action seemingly influenced a lot more people than he was used to, even with a big company. His kidnapping had done more than just make him spend a couple months in a god-forsaken hellhole of a Middle-Eastern country; it'd actually changed him. He thought back to Yinsen in the cave, to his escape and rescue.

Speaking with the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. had been interesting. Nick Fury was a remarkably charismatic figure when he wanted to be, for a huge black guy with an attitude. He'd decided to unmask himself for that man alone, when he realized just how serious he was about Harry, about Bruce, even about Stane. Top-of-the-line life support for the latter; better than he'd known existed. He'd kept a close eye out, and even the bloody clothing they'd taken from Harry had been incinerated, rather than used for vile experiments as he'd half expected. Whoever these people were, they weren't monsters.

The military organization's higher-ups had immediately confessed interest in the Iron Man suit; not surprising, really. Fury himself had not seemed enthused about the push by his superiors for this advanced technology to be handed over, and Tony wasn't planning on anything like it, anyway. It was bad enough that the army was showing an interest without secret organizations doing the exact same thing, especially supposed allies.

Of course, that brought him back to a sticking point he'd been considering for days, ever since the disaster at the Stark building. Yes, the military was uncommonly interested in Stane's technology, in the Iron Man suit, in Harry and Bruce. He couldn't deny that the army was setting itself up as an antagonist. Here he was, though, considering bringing a military officer into the know about the suit. Was he conspiring with the enemy?

He was still considering his options ten minutes later, when the doorbell finally rang. Tony opened with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Hey."

"You look tired," James Rhodes said in concern.

"Come in, Rhodey," Tony said, walking back into his home and dropping onto his couch once more. "Sorry, I'm not the perfect host right now. I think I'm coming down with something, though I'm pretty sure I didn't give any virus permission to enter. I think I need to update my immune system."

Rhodey rolled his eyes as he looked around. "Are you alone?"

"Pepper's not here, that's true," Tony said lightly. "She'll be by later, I'm sure. Now, I called you here for a reason, after all. I've been beating myself up for the last half hour, might as well get it over with." Rhodey looked confused and Tony smiled cheekily as he ambled down the chairs. Well, if he was going through with this, he might as well make it fun. "You remember Afghanistan, right? Crappy desert place, the one you just left?"

"…Yes?"

"Remember that bogey that was spotted near Gulmira? I know you were there, I checked," Tony continued, smirking. "The Air Force sent a couple birds after it, but the target vanished before it could be taken out, right?"

Rhodey looked stunned. "How the hell do you know about that? That's classified military information," Rhodey snapped, then sighed. "That thing, was it yours? Was it one of your cockamamie inventions?" He paused. "Wait, a minute, it was this Iron Man figure, wasn't it?"

"Bingo!" Tony turned to the back of his basement and smirked. "I figured someone would've already made the connection, but I guess you didn't get a good look out there. That should be fixed. Come, I've got something cool to show."

"You sent your bodyguard to Afghanistan to blow up some terrorists?" Rhodey muttered as he followed Tony. "Are you  _nuts_?"

"Way more so than you currently think," Tony said simply, stepping into the centre of the room. "Watch this, it's awesome."

Tony smiled widely as Rhodey backed away in shock; the floor and roof opened up and golden and red parts descended under the control of Jarvis. He winced slightly as the suit was attached piece by piece, snapping into place with a sharp click. He savoured the expression on his best friend's face as the process finished and his helmet snapped closed.

"You crazy son of a bitch!"

"Called it!" Tony exclaimed. "isn't sanity really just a one-trick pony anyway? I mean all you get is one trick, rational thinking, but when you're good and crazy, the sky is the limit.  _Literally_." He stepped away from the platform as he detached his helmet, smirking as his face came back into view. "The Iron Man isn't my bodyguard as everyone's supposed to think. No, I  _am_  Iron Man."

"Tony." Rhodey frowned. "You were the one who...?"

"Blew up a chunk of the city? Yeah, sorry. Won't happen again," Tony said as he tapped his suit. "This is what I've been working on. This is what I used to escape in Afghanistan, too. I think you can already guess what happened to that suit, if you've been watching the news."

Rhodey sighed. "Why tell me this? You know I'm in the Air Force."

"I also know you're my friend," Tony retorted seriously. "We don't always see eye to eye, but I damn well know you'll keep your mouth shut about the pilot of this baby, and its location. This technology in the hands of the military would become a tool of mass destruction. If it's just me, I can make a difference against those who are not on this level, and even some of those who are. We don't want an arms race, we want an  _ace_."

"I always saw you as more of a joker." Rhodey walked around the suit, staring at it in amazement. "The Iron Man suit... it has to be the most impressive thing you've ever built. Jericho Missiles don't come anywhere close to something like this."

"Yes, well…"

"Stark Industries stopped making those, I know," Rhodey frowned. "So, what, you decided to go vigilante, instead?"

Tony smirked, striking a pose. "Destiny's powerful hand has made the bed of my future, and it's up to me to lie in it! I am destined to be a superhero! To right wrongs, and to pound two-fisted justice into the hearts of evildoers everywhere. And you don't fight destiny!"

Rhodey shook his head in embarrassment. "I'll try to forget that little routine. So, what's up with that other guy that's been on the television? If you're the Iron Man, who's he?"

"The 'Magician' is what they're calling him," Tony supplied. "You'll have to figure that out for yourself. Too damn many people know already, but that's beyond help now, I guess. Cool dude, has some neat tricks." He punched a few times in the air, revelling in the power of the suit. "Anyway, the reason I wanted to get you in on this, aside from showing off my cool gadgets, is that I need a bit of help."

"Help?"

Tony nodded." The military's been upgrading their security lately, after some questionable incidents. Their technology's still crappy compared to what I can do, but this can turn into a problem. They do know some of what's going on, and that's what I need right now." Tony gestured to the wall. "Jarvis, screen."

A large compartment opened up, revealing a computer screen. At the top of the page that it was currently showing it said. 'A.I.M.' Rhodey inhaled sharply, and Tony smiled knowingly.

"Advanced Idea Mechanics is the group responsible for that blow-up in Los Angeles, not to mention those 'War of the Worlds' things that went after me with thermal cannons." He glanced over. "From the original movie, not the shitty remake, of course."

"They're a terrorist group, aren't they?" Rhodey squinted. "The Chief – well, my boss, anyway – claimed that there was an attack in South Africa recently, with the culprits identified as A.I.M. and possibly another group, though it was unclear who that might be."

Tony nodded. "These A.I.M. fellows are running some weird schemes. I'm only getting a little bit of information; with the army source drying up, I can't prepare properly. What I need is for you to get me every scrap on information there is on this group, and fast. I, the Magician, and perhaps a few other people are going to blast the hell out of their base, and we don't want any unwelcome surprises."

Rhodey frowned, and was silent for a long time. Finally, he nodded. "Look, I am just in the Air Force, I'm not not even a full colonel. I don't have the clearance, and even if I did, it'd be eyes only. What I  _can_  get you is probably limited, but I can make a few calls." He frowned. "How many people know about this whole superhero thing?"

"A handful of people, us two included. Stane knows, but since he's in a coma."

"Wait,  _Obadiah_  Stane?"

Tony groaned. "Right, you only got the official story. I should explain what went down – it was quite glorious, actually. You know those little missiles that you argued would never be useful for anything?"

"James?  _Tony_?"

The two men turned in an instant to find Pepper in the doorway, staring at Tony's gleaming armour, his helmet still clasped under his arm.

"I suppose it's more than a handful now," Tony muttered after a while. "Hey, Pepper. Would you believe me if I told you I was just trying out the suit and  _Rhodey's_  my personal war machine?" He sighed at her expression, which was somewhere between shock and anger. "No, then. Crap."

* * *

"You brought a  _bowl._ "

Harry scowled. "I'll have you know that this is a particularly rare artefact that I had to go to a lot of trouble for to even purchase; I tracked it down a few years ago, but to get it I had to arrange a delivery from a place called Burkina Faso. I don't even know where that is _._  It also cost me more than I was entirely comfortable paying." He frowned as he studied the object, tracing the intricate runes and symbols carved into it. There was a vague shimmer at the bottom of it, the trace remains of the last time he used it, perhaps. "This is a Pensieve."

"Right. When you can teleport with socks, I suppose magic bowls aren't that much of a stretch," Bruce muttered. He sat uncomfortably across from Harry, still tapping the chair to see if it was going to remain solid. It'd been transfigured from a rotten old one earlier in the afternoon, and the inexplicably sturdy object clearly still had him baffled.

"A Pensieve is a tool for studying thought," Harry explained. "I was introduced to them by my old Headmaster. We used it quite a few times, in those days, to study memories of events from the distant past. Siphoning memories into this allows oneself or other people to have an impartial third-person view of them."

"That's mind-reading," Bruce said with a horrified look. "You can  _read minds?_ "

"If I want to," Harry admitted. "I don't like to do that for many reasons. I have some bad experiences with the process itself, and I'm not nearly skilled enough to do so without alerting the one whose surface thoughts I wish to read. Although Muggles have no appreciable defence, It's possible that I might cause damage. As such I generally try to avoid it."

"You've never…"

"To you or Tony? No. In fact, I haven't performed Legilimency in quite a while, and it was only ever a last resort." He grimaced. "I have once heard it called mental violation, and I don't disagree. This, though, is different. If nothing else works, I might resort to the bludgeoning tactic, but I doubt it would be nearly as helpful. No, the subtlety of the Pensieve will perhaps give us what we want."

The shallow bowl shimmered and Bruce swallowed thickly. "What do I do?"

"I think it's best if I demonstrate, first. If we're going to dive into the way the other guy works, the way the Hulk functions, then we'll be working with stressful situations, and I need to be sure you can handle that kind of thing. The memories are just that; you can't interfere with them or get affected by them, but they can still be intense."

Harry reached into his bag once more and tossed out several empty vials, including the one that had contained one of his doses of Polyjuice Potion. Finally he pulled out a lightly blue draught.

"This is the Calming Draught: It should be enough to make you nice and mellow for an hour or two. I've got plenty of the stuff to last us." He swished it around and offered it up. "It won't remove all your anxiety, but it should dull it down enough so that you can remain in control."

Bruce nodded, dubiously looking at the little flask. "If this is Gatorade, I'm probably going to spew it over you. Can't stand the stuff, haven't drunk anything this blue like this since I was a kid because of that."

"I don't even know what that is, and I was hardly spoiled as a child, so no." Harry raised his wand to his temple and concentrated briefly. A thin filament of silvery material came free and Harry gingerly lowered the memory into the bowl. Some of these things he hadn't thought about in months. "Just take it."

Bruce knocked back the draught in one long gulp. The change was immediate, and Harry realized that a lot of tension that had been there he'd not even noticed, since it was  _always_  there. The man sagged back in his chair with a blissful sigh, his face suddenly seeming years younger without the constantly tense expression. He blinked drowsily. "Wow."

"Don't fall asleep on me," Harry warned. The man sat up a little straighter, still relaxed. "What we're going to do is touch the material in the bowl; it's memories given form, if you must know. We'll be seeing the events from the outside. Try not to freak out or I'll have to knock you out of the memory."

"Sure."

Harry tapped the shimmering substance at the same time as Bruce, and a brief chilling sensation later, he found himself somewhere familiar. The huge statues of serpents stared down on him, and not far from him he found himself, staring at a teenage version of the man he'd ultimately ended, in the Great Hall.

"Harry?"

"This is the Chamber of Secrets," Harry said, keeping his distance from his memory self and the young Tom Riddle, the unconscious body of Ginny in between them, looking decidedly younger than he thought she'd been. He shivered. "That there's me. The little runt."

"We're  _in_ a memory. This is marvellous," Bruce said, looking around with wide eyes. "It's so detailed, how is that even possible? The human mind doesn't remember every detail of an event, that's not how the memory works! Besides, how could you possibly show a memory to another person? The implications for consciousness alone are staggering."

"Bruce, now you're threatening to put  _me_  to sleep." Harry turned to his past self and grimaced. "This memory isn't exactly the happiest I have, so I hope you don't mind if I avoid getting too close. I remember it all well enough."

Right then Tom Riddle hissed, and Harry winced. He couldn't understand Parseltongue anymore, not since he'd lost the Horcrux he was harbouring, but he remembered the words. He didn't need to look up or register Bruce's gasp to know that the mighty Basilisk had made an appearance. Thankfully, the memory of its eyes had none of the potency of the real thing.

"It's a giant lizard!"

Harry turned to Bruce with narrowed eyes. "Seriously?"

"It's got eyelids, and a strong jaw. That's definitely a legless lizard. The biggest I've ever even heard of. Remarkable." Bruce watched, entranced, and Harry wondered briefly if he'd given him a little too much Calming Draught.

Fawkes swooped down and an echo of its wonderful music resounded, though it too was muted compared to the real thing. Pulling the sword from the Sorting Hat, his younger self stormed the creature with what he had to admit was more foolishness than bravery. The huge serpent rose up to attack and Harry watched dispassionately, frowning at the atrocious use of a blade. That was certainly not one of his talents; he supposed he was happy that the Basilisk had a disadvantage with its eyes beyond use.

"This really happened?"

Harry nodded to Bruce just as the Basilisk finally succumbed to the sword that had been slammed up into the roof of its mouth, neatly into its brain. The younger Harry's final moments with Tom's diary Horcrux were even more meaningful now than they'd been at the time.

"You slew a giant lizard in a dungeon," Bruce said, shaking his head. "I know you said you're a wizard, but this, this is fairy tale material."

Harry snorted. "I'm a walking fairy tale, in more ways than one. Now, shall we…"

The world suddenly blurred, and Harry blinked in consternation as he found himself suddenly in a very narrow hallway with gaudy wallpaper. It took him a moment to recognize the place, and he couldn't hide his expression of distaste.

Bruce looked around in confusion. "What's this?"

"Boy!" Harry winced as Vernon Dursley trudged into the hallway, stepping to the cupboard beneath the stairs, unlocking it in a single movement. "You'll make breakfast, and no burning the toast, you hear?"

"Harry?"

"We should get out of here," Harry answered as his younger counterpart crawled out of his little bedroom. This he hadn't intended to put in the Pensieve. He had to have slipped it in when Bruce said something about his childhood, and he'd unconsciously thought of this. This memory was from only a few days before everything changed, before the letter came. Harry grabbed Bruce's arm and with a single movement they emerged from the memory.

Bruce looked somewhere between disgusted and angry, and Harry looked away. After a moment, the man spoke. "Was that what I thought it was?"

"It's not important."

"The hell it isn't, that was a younger you, locked in a closet, wasn't it? I saw inside, you'd been living there for a while already. What kind of parents do that?"

"That wasn't my father," Harry said quickly. "That was Uncle Vernon. I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle when I was only a year old. They didn't like me much. Thought I was a freak, since I had magic. They were sure I'd inherited all the bad parts of my parents."

Bruce flinched violently at that, paling noticeably. "How long were you under those stairs?"

"Until I was eleven," Harry answered soberly. "They didn't dare anymore after I went to school and actually saw others like me, other wizards and witches. The Dursleys were quite afraid of magic. I haven't spoken to either my aunt or uncle in years. The only one I'm on decent terms with, all things considered, is my cousin, Dudley." Harry sighed tiredly. "This is really not what we're here for, you know. I'm not the one that needs therapy."

"I don't know," Bruce said lightly. "I can hypothesize too. This whole thing you have with staying out of the spotlight, at least with your own face, does it have anything to do with  _that?_  Because that kind of thing can mess a kid up."

Harry looked away tiredly. "Bruce, let's focus on the other memory. That one had plenty of stuff that set my teeth on edge; did you have any trouble keeping control?"

"No," Bruce said, sending a knowing look at Harry. He'd certainly noticed that he'd changed the subject. "It was more like a movie than reality. I knew it was an illusion ahead of time, so it was just like an action flick. I think I was more affected by the  _other_ memory. _"_

"Let's get your memories in here," Harry said, glaring briefly. He quickly scooped his own memories back, returning them to his temple, where they vanished. "The way this works is you concentrate on a specific memory, a specific event, and I extract the memory with my wand. This magic  _should_  work with Muggles, though I haven't actually tried this, so I have no idea if it'll be any different."

"Well, that's encouraging," Bruce muttered. "I suppose I'll have to try and remember the, well, Hulk-outs, if you will? The experiment, maybe?"

"Try to keep the focus narrow," Harry instructed. "We have a few days, there's no need to rush through all your memories at once."

Bruce nodded, closing his eyes. His expression went from seeming mildly intoxicated to in pain, and Harry wasn't entirely sure what was going on. "Are you alright?"

"Shut up," Bruce snapped with a growl; his eyes had a sudden green sheen and Harry almost backed away, then he nodded. "Do it."

Harry placed the wand to Bruce's temple, and with a single movement  _pulled._ A thick, greenish strand of memory detached, wispy in the air and decidedly larger than the one Harry had extracted. The glob of memories quickly made its way into the bowl where it shimmered eerily. "Okay, that's not what I had in mind."

Bruce opened his eyes, blinking in wonder. "The memories are dulled, it seems. I could swear I just recalled the pain of the experiment, but not anymore."

"The memories will be muted slightly, but they will eventually return to normal," Harry said. "Unless you remove them entirely, that's just natural. Anyway, what did you think of? There's a whole bunch of memories here. You certainly didn't follow my instructions."

"I focused on the other guy," Bruce said, shivering. "The green ones... I don't think they're my memories."

Harry stared. "The Hulk's? Those have to be practically subconscious, since you're not in control. I've never considered extracting memories from a being with multiple personalities before." He glanced at the great collection of memories and frowned. "This is certainly curious."

"I'm sorry, but what's curious?"

Harry smirked as he glanced up, and tapped the bowl. "Well, it looks like we have our work cut out for us, haven't we? So many memories, it'll take days to go through them. Thankfully, with so many datapoints, we should be able to determine quite well what makes your other half tick, and perhaps more."

"You're entirely too amused by this."

"Memories, nothing more. I remember well the times I sat around this little bowl with my Headmaster. Ah, how often does one get to fill the sizable shoes of the only wizard that Voldemort ever feared?" He smiled genuinely. "Well, let's go for it, then. Let's chase that flighty temptress, adventure!"

Bruce sighed. "Entirely too much."

* * *

Sif sighed in boredom, staring out over the desert of Nevada with mild annoyance. Not only was it a flat wasteland with little to do, but it had to lack any decent predators, too; she hadn't found anything larger than a hare.

Two days had passed since they'd arrived out here; two boring days in which she'd done little more than consider what she'd tell the All-Father when she returned much later than she'd planned, certainly if she stuck around any longer. Odin hadn't really intended her to stay on Midgard for an extended period; finding the Seidmadr and warning him of the dangers of living on this world had been all. Staying to watch over a run-down shed hadn't been in her plans at all.

Staying behind, though, was an easier alternative than returning immediately, and having to deal with Thor, Loki and all the others in the run-up to the coronation. It'd been a long time coming, but Asgard would finally have a new ruler. Honestly, she wasn't sure what the All-Father was thinking, electing his son Thor to the position. He was overly proud and fond of war, traits that seemed in conflict with his father's temperament. Odin had waged war, yes, but never as a first choice.

With sorrow she turned to the shed, wondering what she could tell the last of the Seidhr about the death of his people, about the role that Asgard had played. It had been a millennium ago, now, that the Asgardian people had still called Midgard a home, and the Bifrost opened frequently to let travellers to and fro. The branches of Yggdrasil had not been as perilous then as they were now, or as fragile. The Warriors Three and she had visited the frozen lands of Midgard frequently, occasionally wandering further south.

The Seidhr, whatever had driven them north, it'd already happened then. Aside from native sorcerers, those whom the Asgardians ultimately allied with, there were people with many languages and cultures that took shelter among their brethren, fleeing from some unnamed foe. Odin knew what it had been that hunted these people. He'd gone out personally to deal with it, and returned wounded, one of the few times he had ever shed any blood, at least to her knowledge. He'd refused to speak of the matter again.

With the final eradication of the Seidhr in the century thereafter, the events were lost to memory; Asgard abandoned Midgard after the Ice Giants were driven back, and the way was guarded ever after by Heimdall; it had been centuries since any Asgardian had set foot on this soil.

Now there was a new voice of those ancient people, thus far the only pinprick of evidence she'd found that the old people had not died out, that their ways had been maintained even in the absence of their mightiest allies. Magic had returned to Midgard, true magic, and it seemed to her that a connection long severed between her world and this one might have a chance to be re-established. Would a single Seidmadr be enough to change even Odin All-Father's mind?

Perhaps not. But she would be here to see the man's potential, both in war and peace.

* * *

This memory, too, was warped beyond recognition, and Harry frowned in annoyance. The Hulk's memories weren't like he'd expected; they were far more chaotic, less clear than Bruce's own. It was like he was missing something, like he was only seeing half the memory, in disjointed bits.

"This is a waste of time," Bruce muttered, his hands in his pockets.

Harry forcibly shoved the memory away and dragging another to the surface. He'd actually gotten better at it over the last few days. He'd never had a reason to use the Pensieve like this, and it was remarkable how good a motivator it was to have someone right beside you that could turn into a monster if he got annoyed enough. "I can't help it, Bruce. The Hulk's memories will probably only make sense to the Hulk itself."

"My hypothesis was correct, then." Bruce frowned. "The thought processes of the Hulk are substantially different; clearly whatever fundamental difference there exists keeps me from understanding any of this. It's like I'm in a fog."

"I just see a messed up blur," Harry admitted. "I have seen something like it, a little, but that was with edited memories, not with real ones that are simply skewed so far beyond normal human range that they're unrecognizable. I suppose this is what it'd be like to watch an animal's memories."

Harry called on the next memory, and Bruce gasped. The memory they were in showed a small house, where a young Bruce sat on the floor, playing with some kind of puzzle. He was perhaps only five or six years old, looking decidedly frail.

"This – " Bruce said shortly, stopping Harry from moving on to the next memory. "I suppose it's only right that you see this."

"What are you…?"

The door opened just as Bruce finished his puzzle, cheering in victory. There, framed in the door stood an ashen-faced man who looked decidedly similar to Bruce, his eyes taking in the situation in an instant.

"You inherited it," The man muttered, and the older Bruce leaned in to listen. "You inherited the monster gene, didn't you? Just like me."

Harry wanted to ask Bruce what was going on, but the man had turned away, quivering. He didn't have to wait long to know why. Bruce's father stepped forward, smacking the little boy across the face with such ferocity that Harry tripped back in horror. "Bruce!"

"I'd almost forgotten," Bruce whispered as he trembled, steadying himself against the wall. "My father. He wasn't a kind man. It seems we share a history of questionable parenting, at least." He chuckled humourlessly as he stared at the picture. Bruce's mother rushed into the room, and Harry had to turn away.

"Why didn't you let me end it?"

"I saw one of your bad memories; now you've seen one of mine," Bruce said softly, staring at the ground. "I trust that you won't tell anyone about this, just as I'll keep what I saw to myself."

Harry nodded somberly. "This monster gene," he said after a moment. "Does it have anything to do with the Hulk?"

"No. He blamed my grandfather for his psychological issues," Bruce said tiredly. "It ultimately led him to his end. It's ancient history. A few years after this happened, my mother had enough, and decided to leave. She wanted to take me with her, we already had everything packed. Then he found out." He closed his eyes. "She died."

Harry stared. "Your father...?"

Bruce glared at the man in the memory for a moment. "He did. I was only a kid, I barely knew what was going on. He was put in a mental institution, and he spent the next fifteen years there. I didn't meet him again until I was grown up. It was the last time we spoke; not long after that he was mugged and killed."

"That's awful. I don't know what to say." Harry rubbed the back of his head and turned away. "Bruce, you really don't have to tell me such personal things if it hurts you so much."

"It doesn't matter. It happened, and I hate it, but it's all behind me. The last few years have forced me to accept a lot of bad things as normal, and I've been working hard to avoid getting angry. This is just one part of it. I have faced these demons before."

Harry didn't know what else to say, forcibly moving away from the memory into another. A graveyard; how disturbingly appropriate. He tried to move to another again, but a hand grasped out, stopping him. Harry looked to Bruce to find him staring in the distance.

"I'd like to stay here, for a moment," he said. He walked through the dimly-lit graveyard, stopping before a headstone; it had to be his mother's, and Harry awkwardly looked on, reminded of his own visits to Godric's Hollow. After a few moments he noticed the memory was strangely jittery, almost like the memory was stuttering, and Harry realized that the shadows were too long. There were gaps where there shouldn't be, like the memory simply stopped to exist. He looked around himself and realized with a start that something was off, everywhere. It reminded him of the choppiness of the memory that Dumbledore had retrieved from Slughorn. With a start, he realized what he was seeing: A fake memory.

"Bruce, I think we should leave."

The man looked up with tears in his eyes. "A few more minutes."

"You don't understand," Harry added hastily, staring at the fraying edges of the memory. "There's nobody here. It's your memory, how can you  _not be here_? This isn't like the others; this memory, it's been  _changed_." He glanced up at the sky and winced; it seemed to be cracking, with fissures running through mid-air. "Look, I don't know what kind of Muggle things could alter memories, but I don't think we want to be here to find that out. Our presence is breaking up the illusion."

"Illusion?" Bruce asked, looking around with a mixture of fear and confusion. "This is just as I remember it..."

"Bruce, you wouldn't remember. That's how this works. Don't you understand?" Harry tried to pull them out of the memory in a single yank. The very attempt broke what was left of the false image that had been covering up the truth, and he faltered. The sky cracked, the darkness approached from all sides. Reality shifted, sound became scent, sight became touch; for a brief moment, there was total confusion, and all the senses turned into one. Then things resumed as they should, and the false memory that had been constructed was torn to shreds.

They were still in the graveyard. Spread out across his wife's grave, his head propped up against the gravestone with a stream of blood dribbling down from the back of his head, was Bruce's father. His eyes stared glassily ahead. Looming over him stood a twenty-something year old Bruce Banner, his fists balled and bloodied, eyes filled with rage and a green glow.


	19. Nightmares

Oh, bugger.

Harry felt like he was frozen in place as he stared at the body of Bruce's father propped up against the grave, his glassy eyes still facing his son. The older Bruce was shaking, and Harry didn't know what he could possibly do, or say. Looming over the grave with a mad rage in his eyes, young Bruce Banner didn't even notice the rain that was slowly washing away the blood. What had happened here? What had led to something like  _this?_

The younger Bruce cried out in pain and anguish, sounding for a brief moment like he was laughing. He fled, running from the graveyard like a man possessed. Colour and sound drained out of existence, evaporated into nothingness as the adult Bruce stared after his younger self with clenched teeth, incapable of forming any words.

The graveyard vanished, and for a few seconds Harry felt like he was falling, falling, and he'd never hit the ground. Harry tried to get his thoughts in order, realizing that he was staring at a ceiling. He was out of the memory, out of the pensieve, even. Bruce had ripped himself right out of the memory, and took Harry with him.

He didn't have to wonder how Bruce was doing when he heard the ripping of clothes and a bestial growl from the man's lips. Harry realized with a chill that he was reminded of himself, years ago, before Voldemort was defeated, when hope was a rarity. Guilt, grief, self-loathing, he recognized them too well. "Bruce! You have to calm down!" Harry tried, but Bruce didn't even flinch. Rage, endless rage took over from the guilt. It was all the Hulk, now.

"Sif!" Harry called, backing away, quickly conjuring a Shield Charm in front of him. "I could  _really_  use you in here, right now!"

She was there almost before he'd finished his sentence, brandishing a gleaming sword. She stared at the Hulk with a mixture of horror and excitement. Harry sighed in relief, smiling slightly. "We have a bit of a … problem."

"This was not the plan, Seidmadr," Sif said quickly. "No matter, it has been many years since I tested my mettle against a creature of this size and strength." She smirked. "A challenge."

Harry shook his head. "We'd better get out of the way before he starts smashing."

Sif raised an eyebrow. "I have fought Ogres and Frost Giants, this is not so different."

Before either could react, The Hulk sent a last glance at Harry. In a single fluid movement it rocketed through the roof of the shed with enough force to sling itself hundreds of feet away, landing with an audible thud. Almost immediately it jumped again. Sif stared, and then turned to Harry. "Ogres don't do that."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered tiredly. Granted, he'd chosen this location in the middle of nowhere precisely because something like this could happen. He'd expected that it would be memories of Bruce's transformations that got the better of him, though, or just sheer stress of working in a limited time. This, this was different. That memory in the graveyard had been blocked off, yet without any magic involved. Without the Pensieve, Harry would likely not even have figured out that the memory was faulty at all. He could only come to one conclusion that made sense: It was a repressed memory. Something that his mind had been so overwhelmed by that it had been locked away, thrown into the recesses of the mind. It would've stayed there, unnoticed, if not for Bruce's enthusiasm in getting the Hulk's memories out of his head. The anger in those eyes said it all. That memory had been about something important. Something vital.

"Should we follow him?" Sif wondered, staring at the hole in the roof. "Are all the buildings here so shoddily built that anyone can just knock their way through? It must be terrifying, living in fear of the sky falling at any moment."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sif, we're in the middle of a desert, what do you think? Anyway, I'm tracking Bruce as we speak; I put the charm on him before we even left. It should give me a good idea of where he's heading." He stared in the distance and sighed. "I'm amazed he kept his cool. He didn't even attempt to smash us into bits before he left, this time. Makes me hope Bruce is still in there, somewhere…"

Sif slipped her sword back onto her back, and nodded sharply. "Then we will track him until he stops for sleep or food. Will we run?"

Harry blinked and turned to her with narrowed eyes. "Run? Are you serious? Merlin, can you imagine how long that would take? Besides, the Hulk is a lot faster than either of us. Hold on, I've got something that'll be of use, here. It should at least allow us to cover some distance." He rummaged through his pouch and pulled out his Firebolt, smiling proudly. He brushed some sand off the handle; it'd been stuck there since Afghanistan, probably. "This… would be pretty difficult, actually. It's doable, but it'll be snug."

Sif looked on sceptically. "What do you mean to do? Sweep away the desert? I could carry you, instead. We Asgardians have far greater stamina than earthlings, and we are a lot faster as well. Surely the green beast will have to rest, sooner or later."

Harry didn't comment on that, trying to shake the mental image that had conjured up. Harry quickly busied himself with gathering the Pensieve and the leftover memories in it, depositing the magical artefact and a small bottle that shimmered silver-green into his mokeskin pouch. "This would be much easier if you knew how to fly, you know."

Sif scowled. "I leave that tomfoolery to Thor, thank you." She blinked as Harry flipped a leg over the Firebolt.

"The broom should be able to hold two, but it'll be a pretty tight fit," he said, tapping on the small area left over behind him. He didn't really need the footrests – they were mostly for quick and swift turns – so that left just enough to carry a second person. He wouldn't be able to hit top speed, he was sure, but the enchantments would not be stressed overly much.

Sif stared. "…It actually flies?"

Harry smiled broadly. "It's a broom, and I'm a wizard. What do you  _think_  it does? Get on!"

* * *

"It's definitely confirmed, sir. Code Green."

"Well done," Director Fury muttered gruffly, turning away from the monitor that still showed an overhead map of Chile with three very bright dots blinking at the northern edge. He turned to Agent Coulson with a worried expression. "What's the status on the incident in Africa?"

"A significant amount of classified materials were taken," Coulson said, shrugging. "We don't have details, but local authorities are indicating that it could potentially be used to build weapons. I think we know where that is going."

"The target was Wakanda," Fury said, nodding. "Was it A.I.M?"

"It seems likely. Between their activity on the American continent, the Middle-East and Africa, it seems they've gone global with their activities. I'm not sure if they could be called a domestic terrorist organization any longer."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s going to have to step up," Fury said darkly. "Wakanda is one of the most technologically sophisticated nations on the planet, it's hardly a shantytown. How did someone get in and out without tripping at least half a dozen of their security systems? There must have been traitors involved." He frowned. "I'm even more worried about what A.I.M. took."

Coulson nodded. "With Vibranium and the most sophisticated gamma-based technology that we've ever seen, what are we looking at here? What kind of plan do these fellows have with  _that?"_

A small white pop-up window appeared in the middle of it, right on top of the green dots that Fury had been staring at. At the same time, music started playing, and Fury sighed, closing his eyes.

"Is that AC/DC?" Coulson asked, leaning in.

Fury scowled at the screen. "I should've expected something like this."

The message on his screen was a little picture of the Iron Man costume's helmet, alongside two fingers in the peace salute. Scrawled in the corner was: "Stop by soon, I have new information."

* * *

Harry winced as he turned into the wind, nursing his ribs. Rising off the ground had been easy enough and he'd flown a few slow loops along the ground to get Sif used to keeping her balance, even if things were uncomfortably snug. Fitting her behind him on the broom was not really ideal, but she wasn't going to just learn to fly a broom in five minutes, and he'd need to see where he was going.

When he'd accelerated to full speed, though, things had changed. Sif had gone completely motionless as if glued to the broom, her knuckles white from keeping a tight grip on Harry. A painfully tight grip, actually; she hadn't been kidding when she claimed to be stronger than the average person. Harry was beginning to lose the feeling in his fingers and tried to look behind himself, but the wind wasn't helping much in letting him be heard. "We'll stop for a moment, alright?" He shouted.

"No!" Sif called back, squeezing tighter and Harry gasped. "Keep going! You're not getting me on this thing again! _"_

Harry couldn't hold in a chuckle. "You, the mysterious alien goddess of war, are afraid of  _heights_?"

"No," Sif said sharply. "I have stood on the highest pinnacle of Asgard's highest towers, I have crossed the tallest mountains. It is not height that makes me uncomfortable. " She glanced down uneasily. "I do not much care for falling to my death, though."

Harry shook his head. "We're closing in on Bruce, but he's still moving quickly. He's not turned back yet, obviously. Soon it'll be night-time, and I don't think flying with a passenger's a good idea. I might smack up right into something. I think we should consider finding a good spot to spend the night," Harry replied loudly. "We'll have to wait until he calms down before we get too close, anyway. Getting up close and personal with the Hulk isn't exactly what I'm looking for today." He looked around with narrowed eyes. "Down here seems good."

"Just keep going!"

"Unless you want me to fall asleep on this thing and give you that tumbling fall you fear, we'll take a break." He didn't wait for an answer, quickly slowing down and descending towards the ground; Sif almost squeaked but managed to catch herself and scowled the rest of the way down.

"Here we are," Harry said with a sigh, landing smoothly and sighing in relief as Sif released him and quickly stepped off the broom. His ribs felt like someone sat on them, and he was fairly certain that if he hadn't been as resilient as he was, he would have broken some of them already. He had taken enough tumbles in Quidditch to get used to getting hit, he supposed.

"Are you not worried about the green creature? Your friend?" Sif wondered, stretching her limbs. "Every minute we wait, it will get further away from us."

"I think that Bruce needs a little time alone," Harry said, sighing. "Seeing something like  _that_  must have affected him a lot. I certainly don't know what to tell him. I have no clue what I could possibly add. I think it's best if we let the Hulk rage out. There's nobody around in a huge area here, Tony checked. By the time he's done and Bruce is back, we might have figured out what happened." He turned back to where they came from and frowned. "I fear that I've done more harm than good back there."

"Is this a regular occurrence?" Sif wondered. "I had never heard of it before coming here – a human capable of turning into something else. Truly remarkable."

"You don't know much about humans, do you?" Harry observed, flopping down on the sparse grass that covered their hill. "You really  _are_ an alien."

"Of course I know about humans," she retorted, affronted. "I have been to Midgard many times, before the ties between our worlds were cut. When the last war against the Frost Giants was fought here, and the Seidr…" She shook her head, frowning. "It is not a pretty tale. I was young, then, and I did not see battle until much later. The people were friendly, welcoming even."

"You don't act like you know us," Harry muttered as he swerved over a particularly tall dune. "You're a visitor from some other world. Where you come from, Asgard, there's just… Asgardians, right? People like you?"

"Yes…?"

"It's no different here. We just have humans, and nothing else, " Harry said. "There are extraordinary ones, of course, but they're all still people, still human. You classify me differently than the others, and I can see why, but I'm really not. I have magic, that's true enough, but I'm as human as anyone. Tony's human too, even if we might question that at times, and Bruce is perhaps the most human out of all of us."

He shrugged at her curious glance. "That transformation of his, it's based on some kind of science. It's not magical, it's Muggle ingenuity, and perhaps not the curse that he sees it as. At least Tony agrees with that much. What I'm trying to say is, I don't know how it works with your people, but we appreciate getting to understand each other. I'd suggest getting to know Earth and humans a little more, since you come off as uninterested, and in return you tell us about Asgard. Deal?"

"I suppose…"

"When all of this is over, we might have more time to get into that," Harry said. "I had to learn quite a bit too, you know, and I'm still not done. I'm reading Tony's books, and even the simple ones don't make much sense to me, but I'm sure I'll figure out these Muggles at some point." He smirked widely. "Asgardians too, I suppose. Maybe I'll go visit that Odin of yours in person. Perhaps I can persuade him to help us out, if the danger that's approaching is as bad as you described it."

"I doubt that," Sif said softly. "The All-Father is set in his ways, and Asgard has not interfered with matters of Midgard for centuries. It is an established line that few but Loki have dared to tread, and none have broken it. He will not change this neutrality on a whim. We have had a war in Asgard before, and there is fear that the next might bring Ragnarok, the end of the Asgardian race."

"Fair enough," Harry said. "But what if you get something in return? I mean, I'm certain that if they really wanted to, there's quite a bunch of people on this planet that could take on Asgardians, or bigger things. Asgardian protection of Earth could be mirrored with Midgard's protection of Asgard?"

"Three people, against the foes of Asgard?" Sif shook her head. "I do not believe that's plausible."

"What if it's more than three?" Harry said, smiling. "We're not the only ones out there, you know. There's whole organizations to keep track of the extraordinary, and I actually work for one. Didn't you see that giant suit that nearly wiped out the Stark building, the other day?" Harry sighed. "That's the thing, you know. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. as a consultant, but what it ends up as is me, Tony and Bruce as the wrecking crew to tackle other people who are getting to our level. It's not hard to figure out."

"These are your enemies, not your friends." Sif rolled her eyes. "What use could they be?"

Harry smiled. "Since the press conference, and it's only been such a short time, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been getting triple the number of extraordinary cases. Some of those will end up being nasty stuff that we get sent after, but not all of them. Iron Man and the Magician are blazing the way, they're an example. That fight in the city was just a taste, but I think it got people informed on what's possible. I think there's others out there, other amazing people who have never been in the limelight, who have preferred to keep it to themselves."

"You cannot rely on something like that."

"I know. But I would not be surprised to see a wizard knocking on my door, no matter what you say, or any number of people like Tony who are smart and know what to do with it. I've already had you barge in, after all."

Sif sighed. "I suppose that the presence of unusual humans is a good sign. Perhaps this world is truly starting to change into something more formidable. For most of history, it has simply been known as – "

"Mostly harmless? Yeah, Tony told me as much. He plans to change that, though I'm not sure how yet. The suit's just the beginning, I'm sure." Really, listening in on S.H.I.E.L.D. had let him in on most of these facts, and even now he was keeping an ear out for what was going on there. He had Bruce to worry about, but Fury was working on the mission that he was supposed to be involved in, and it was beginning to sound fairly ominous. With gamma signatures, multiple attacks on foreign soil, and now a personal visit to Tony, it seemed that S.H.I.E.L.D. had a busy schedule. Harry was glad, at least, that he would know exactly what was going on.

"How far is the green one, now?" Sif wondered. "I have seen nothing of him, as of yet."

Harry flipped over, looking at her tiredly. "He's a few hours away at the top speed we can reach, but he's still going. Unless he stops moving, this could take  _days_. Maybe I could catch up on my own if I go all out, but I'd need to leave you alone somewhere in this wasteland." He frowned. "Bruce probably doesn't want to be found; I'd really like you around when we find him, if he hasn't turned back yet. If you can take even half the blows he throws, that should buy me enough time to force him to revert. Maybe. The Hulk's temperamental at the best of times; I can't imagine his mental state helps."

"What did you  _do_  back there?" Sif wondered. "I was getting quite thoroughly bored from waiting for you two to finish whatever you were up to, and then that creature was there. I understand that it is the same person in some fashion, but what caused this change?"

"I don't know all the details, but I do know that stress, especially rage, triggers those transformations of his. It's not just physical; it's mental too. Something I did went wrong… I shook something loose. It was a memory that he'd hidden from himself, something awful." He grimaced. "This wasn't what I intended. I have to put it right. If need be, I'll obliviate him, erase the memory entirely."

Sif inhaled sharply. "You can  _do_ that _?_ "

Harry nodded glumly. "I don't like to do it, but yes. I can do a lot of things that people really wouldn't like. I think if S.H.I.E.L.D. found out they'd be utterly terrified. Apparating is bad enough; imagine if they found out I could rip their thoughts right out of their heads, or kill them with two words? That I could incinerate their entire base to ashes with a single spell? They would burn me at the stake, and yet I wouldn't even feel the flames."

Harry sighed as he turned away. "I think Tony suspects that if I really cut loose,  _really_  pulled the strongest aces out of my sleeve, there would be nothing left standing. The same is true for him and Bruce, I believe, if things got hectic. S.H.I.E.L.D. thinks it has us pegged, that we've shown how far we can go, or at least some of our most impressive tricks. They're wrong." He nodded in the direction that the Hulk went. "For example, I don't know if Bruce even has an upper limit. The first time we fought, I was toyed with. I realize that now. I got hit near the end, and not even that hard, because the Hulk wanted me to know that he was stronger. It hurt for  _days._  No, I don't think anyone has seen what he can do, yet. He's still fighting like Bruce is in there; he's still pulling his punches, being more careful than he needs to be. It needs something truly rage-inducing before even Bruce would go for the killing blow."

"If he is so powerful, and you are as well, why do you keep yourself limited? Why do you not use your strongest skills? I am a master of weaponry, and I carry my weapons on me and use them. It is foolish to let one's strongest skills lie in favour of inferior ones."

"Not necessarily." Harry looked down tiredly. "The strongest spells I know are considered dark magic. That description is about more than just that they're destructive in nature. Lots of spells can be dangerous, even lethal. No, it's because you've got to  _mean_  what the spells stand for. It's not really accurate to say that dark magic corrupts, but to even cast those spells you have to be willing to sacrifice a lot of things. There were only ever a few people that might've gotten me enraged enough to sink to that level, and they're dead."

Sif grimaced, staring into the darkness. "What you say reminds me of the history of an Asgardian woman who was banished long ago to wander the other worlds of Yggdrasil. Her name was Amora. She fell to the temptation of using her magic to control the minds of others, to enslave them, and in the end she endangered the stability of all. She was cast out for her transgressions. Her story is told to all magicians as a cautionary tale."

"You have magic in your world?" Harry asked suddenly. "Why haven't you said so before?"

"Some of us can use what humans would consider magic, though it is perhaps an inaccurate description," Sif said. "Odin All-Father is the master of such things; he has enchanted many of our weapons, such as the mighty hammer of Thor, Mjolnir. There are few others who pursue such roads. Of those whom I know personally, only Loki has studied the subject in depth."

Harry nodded. "Perhaps I should visit Asgard, sometime, and visit this Loki. It would be good to meet another wizard, even if they aren't strictly – human." He stared up at the sky and sighed. "It is strange, being the only one around. You came specifically for me, didn't you? That probably means my hope for the existence of other wizards or witches on Earth may be in vain."

"They may yet be hiding," Sif said, frowning. "You yourself have vanished from Heimdall's view, which few others are capable of. If anyone could vanish from his sight entirely, it would be the Seidr, masters of the arcane."

Harry nodded, and was silent for a little while. "I have been thinking about what to do about Bruce. There is something that I can do, now, that is not dark in nature. It might help me figure out how to pull him back from the edge. It's pretty risky, though." He grabbed the Pensieve from his bag along with a small flask that contained Bruce's memories. "His memory was in pieces, and I only ever saw the end of it, the awful conclusion. Perhaps I can dig out exactly what happened that day, and get to some kind of answer; maybe that will tell me what to do about Bruce."

"How dangerous is this?" Sif wondered, and Harry swallowed.

"It should be fine; I've been in the memory before," Harry said airily as he set the bowl down. He stared at the little flask he'd put beside it, and the single darkened memory in the mix of silver and green. That had to be the one he needed. Jabbing at it with his wand, he ever so slowly drew it out of the flask. It was fraying, dissipating; the mutilated memory was beginning to fall apart. It looked almost jagged and thorny, and Harry narrowed his eyes. This was way too flimsy for the Pensieve. There was only one place where this memory wouldn't disintegrate utterly. Glancing at Sif twice, he swallowed. "Take care of me, would you?"

Before Sif could answer, Harry put the wand to his temple. The world vanished with a sudden wave of stifling darkness and his thoughts shattered.

* * *

Tony sighed as he lounged on his patio, snacking on some of Pepper's delicious cookies as he sipped from a glass of wine. The fact that Pepper was also currently yelling at him had registered, but for a moment he savoured the taste of his delicious Montrachet.

"You flew into a  _war zone_  with your untested prototype … thing? Are you trying to get yourself killed _?"_

Tony rubbed his forehead, setting down his glass. "Pepper, I was perfectly safe. As safe as one can be in a flying tank," Tony pointed out. "Help me out here, Rhodey." He pouted as said man turned around, shaking his head. "Ah, come on, you just got here! You can't leave me alone with this. I've got important people coming over. I want you with me when –"

"I'm not leaving the house; I'm just keeping myself out of  _this_  mess," Rhodey said pointedly, and he quickly headed back into the house. He was probably intent on seeing the suit again, but Jarvis would keep it safely behind lock and key.

"You can't even trust your closest friends anymore. It's a tragedy," Tony said. "Pepper… I would have told you about all the Iron Man stuff when I got the chance." He frowned at her sceptical expression. "You can ask the others when they get back. I told them that I planned on informing you and Rhodey."

"Others? Oh, you're not telling me you told Bruce and Harry about all this before  _me?"_ Pepper shook her head. "How long have I been working for you now, Tony? Looking out for you, even? You went missing for months, and who was biting her nails, hoping that you had survived after all?"

Tony looked down, sighing. "I know. It's just… things were a little hectic. Come on." He tapped next to him on his chair. "It's a bit narrow, but I'm sure you can fit there."

Pepper slowly sat down. "…Now what?"

"You know all about what happened in Afghanistan," Tony began, staring ahead. "Keep  _everything_  I say a secret, alright? There are some people that would get awfully miffed if you didn't." He glanced at her for a moment. "Right, of course you will. Well... it all started in Afghanistan. Harry saved me, I dragged him home with me, all that. What I never told you was that the way I escaped into the desert in the first place wasn't strictly normal."

"It was the suit, wasn't it? The Iron Man?"

"Yes, though I suppose that was an easy guess, knowing what you do," Tony retorted. "It was not the suave gold and red one, though; that one's my private ride. I escaped in something that looked like the big, bulky, grey one that you saw plastered across all the television screens." He paused, frowning. "That one was a prototype that I left behind in the sand; it was in pieces. Someone else dug it up again, and dragged it back here. Obadiah Stane."

Pepper gasped. "No!"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "What, did you think his disappearance was a coincidence? He just happened to wander off to parts unknown the very day the company building he was in was creatively redecorated? No, listing him among the half-dozen that were unaccounted for was a good way to make him disappear. He's in custody in the best prison this nation can afford. I used the Iron Man suit against his, and I was there when he went down. I did the same thing a few days later, with those drones downtown."

"You couldn't let the army handle it?" Pepper asked sharply. "Anyone else? Why did you have to strap yourself to a glorified rocket? You could've  _died_! _"_

"Yes," Tony said simply. "I could have been killed in that cave in Afghanistan too, if I'd simply given in to the demands of my captors. I could rip this damn magnet out of my chest, and I'd die soon enough. I could have been smashed a dozen times while in my suit. I know that. Yet I go anyway. You must know why."

"Tony, why do you have to put your own life on the line for things like this?" She shook her head. "You've always been self-destructive, but this…"

"This is the kind that's worth something," Tony finished, and smiled. "You know those weapons out there in Afghanistan? Those were my weapons, Stark weapons. We've been over this. I want to leave a legacy there that's not just war and death, both with my company and personally." He sipped from his wine. "You know those bastards that were behind Obi's suit and the drones that attacked me? They were from a domestic terrorist group that's gone a little crazy of late, and it was funded by Stark Industries. I'm cleaning up after my company, Pepper. When I'm done, Stark will mean something better than it does now. Stark will be synonymous with clean energy, perhaps, or with the Iron Man suit that protects the citizens of this country. It won't happen quickly, but I'm resilient."

Pepper sighed. "I suppose… I thought that you had ulterior motives for this radical departure from your previous habits. I've known you for so long, I honestly hadn't expected you to ever change your mind, even a little." She smiled, then blinked in consternation. "Wait, if you're the Iron Man…"

"Yes, they are," Tony said lightly. "Thought you'd get to that more quickly. I'm letting them crash in my home until I find something more suitable. Neither of them have particularly many places to go, for obvious reasons."

"The  _Magician,_ from the news? The one who shot fire out of his hands and stopped that green brute? He's been living in this house? Are you crazy?"

"Harry's no threat to us," Tony said simply. "What can I say? He and Bruce pitch in on repairing stuff, and they get me junk food. It's a match made in heaven. We might be getting a fourth tenant for a while, so don't get jealous now. She's quite the babe."

Pepper blanched. " _You_ , living with a  _woman_?"

"Hey, there have been lots of women," Tony said, scowling. "Not for very long, but they've been here."

"Yes, I distinctly recall that," Pepper noted dryly. "If this one is supposed to be staying here for a longer time period, please avoid the whole one-night-stand thing."

"Oh, I wouldn't dare," Tony said. "She might throw another knife at me, or worse." He stood up, staring out over the sea. "Pepper… keep all this to yourself, alright? You probably noticed that Harry and Bruce are even more private than I am, and that's saying something. Of course, one would expect that joint smashing of evil robot aircraft probably counts for something; they can be trusted. You already know about Harry. I suppose Bruce will tell you in due time. They should all be back here soon enough."

Pepper shook her head. "What are you assembling here, Tony?"

"The Super Best Friends?" he joked. "I've been getting some ideas from a few files I've recently acquired. Interesting stuff. You know, I've heard about this new guy in New York, supposed to be pretty cool. Perhaps if we built a new home there, we'd have another interested tenant? Besides, it's nice and eventful there, especially if we move in. I've always wanted a tower…"

"Please tell me you're not…"

"I already bought the land. Want to help me out with the design, later this week?" Tony smiled broadly. "I knew you would. I've got an important meeting soon, national defence type stuff. Don't worry, I'll fill you in later. I suppose you could get me some coffee, though." He quickly snapped off a kiss on her cheek before he walked back into the house. "Rhodey, I don't think that suit's going to open without the passkeys… I know you've been trying for the last ten minutes."

Pepper sighed and shook her head before she snatched Tony's half-finished glass of wine and drank it all.

* * *

That had been a stupid idea. A tremendously stupid, ridiculously unsafe idea.

"Tony, you're rubbing off on me," Harry muttered as he opened his eyes. The world swam before his eyes for a moment, and when he managed to right himself, he stopped cold. It was dark and dreary, and graves jutted out of the ground like rotten teeth. There was a chill in the air and Harry recognized this place, recognized it from his nightmares. Slowly, he turned around, knowing what he'd see.

"Hello, Harry Potter," the man said softly. His face was as pasty white as ever, and his narrowed red eyes stared down on Harry coldly. In his hand he held the wand he'd lost in their last meeting. The Elder Wand.

"You're  _dead!"_ Harry blurted.

"Yes," Voldemort responded simply, glancing at his bony hand curiously. "That is a most regrettable circumstance." He shook his head, smirking viciously. "This form is interesting, isn't it? Serpentine, powerful. I think I like it."

Harry scrambled back to his feet, grasping his wand tightly and aiming it at his old enemy. The graveyard was familiar, and yet it wasn't, strangely twisted. There, behind Voldemort, was the grave of Tom Riddle Sr. Right beside it was a second grave, Rebecca Banner's grave. "This isn't real," Harry said with certainty. "This is a memory – this is all in my head."

Voldemort smiled sardonically. "Of course it's all in your head, Harry Potter, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" He shook his head in amusement. "Think of me as you wish. It is not the first time that you have spoken to a memory made conscious, is it? See me as such, or as an ill-conceived thought, or perhaps as everything that you could be." Voldemort smiled, and for a moment his eyes glimmered green. "Such potential, untapped…"

Harry frowned. "This is a memory, then… but you're clearly not a part of it. The real Voldemort would've cursed me already." Harry winced as his head throbbed painfully. He tried to remember where he'd been, before… this. He couldn't recall. He could only vaguely remember a Pensieve… A chill randown his back. "Something's gone wrong, hasn't it?"

"Yes," The would-be Voldemort drawled, sounding distinctly bored. "Your unwise attempt at inserting a foreign thought into your puny mind backfired on you." He turned to the two nearby graves. "You made quite a mess of things in this head of yours, you know. It's like someone tore whole parts of it out. Quite unsightly. I suppose this would be an easy way to be rid of you, but… that would be so dreadfully uninteresting." He paused, turning back towards Harry. "This is a significant memory, is it not? An evening of rebirth, a turning point in your life, and now you've defiled it. You shoved another memory on top. It's unsurprising: Two graveyards, two deaths, two pivotal moments. The memories resonate. It is no wonder that your mind was so open, so unprotected, that everything and anything could traipse right in."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked warily. "Are you using  _Legilimency_  on me? Who are you, really?"

"That is not the right question," The man said simply. "There is a time for introductions, and then there is a time for stopping your mind from collapsing in on itself. I think we agree on which of these is more immediately relevant. Do you remember the graveyard, wizard? The duel that took place by these tombs, around a great cauldron from which the form I bear arose?" He grinned toothily. "Do you recall the moment when you almost died?"

"Yes… I think." Harry blinked confusedly, trying to recall the details. There had been Phoenix song, and an enraged man. Spirits, floating freely in the air, and the overwhelming urge to lash out. Green light? "This…"

"Two memories. Even you can make such an elementary connection, can you not? One of the memories is your own, the other is alien. Different. Filter out the memory that has invaded. That will return things to a semblance of normality."

"You're surprisingly helpful, especially considering that pasty-white face you're using," Harry muttered, trying to reason out which part of the memory was real, and which wasn't. It didn't make sense. He remembered it all as his own thoughts; there was no difference. The only reason he knew that he hadn't really killed his father against that headstone was because he knew his parents had long been dead. Grief and guilt over Brian Banner's death wouldn't leave him, though, even though he knew they weren't his own.

Voldemort shook his head. "Do not mistake my help for charity, Harry Potter. You are useful, promising. I would not have you snuffed out by your own idiocy, not now." He stared at Harry with his red eyes, analyzing him. "You are an interesting specimen. The only one of your kind, aren't you?"

Harry nodded distractedly. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "That rage," Harry blurted. "Bruce, the Hulk. I'm remembering parts of his life. It's intermixed with my own. What… what did I do?"

"You'll have to live through the false memory before you will return to sanity," The man who looked like Voldemort said in distaste. "You must live it like an observer rather than a participant. Things should snap back into place."

"That'll hurt, won't it?"

"Yes." The false Voldemort smiled, and for a moment he eerily resembled the real one. "Very much so."

"Story of my life." Harry shook his head as the world evaporated into white agony.

* * *

"You're not serious."

"I am," Tony said, tapping on his screen. "Three of them, armed and ready to fire. You were looking in the right direction, but you stopped too quickly. If it had been one, perhaps I could have bought this as the signature of a power station for a particularly large military base. Perhaps it was poorly shielded, which is why you picked it up. But three? No, we're dealing with weapons. Gamma bombs. Nuclear missiles, but even deadlier."

"This is a lot more serious than we expected, then." Fury scowled, glancing at Rhodey, who was looking on with interest. "Do you really want him here? He is military, you understand? That kind of weaponry should not fall into their hands."

"He's part of this now," Tony said sharply. "Pepper too, for that matter. They won't talk."

"I'll keep you to that promise," Fury murmured, focusing back on the screen. "Three of these 'Gamma bombs', each big enough to take out an entire damn city. This is a hell of a lot more than just a little hornet's nest. I know we wanted to send you and the other two in, but can we stop a group that's ready to unleash the apocalypse and seems to be aiming for world conquest?"

"Of course," Tony said, shrugging. "You've got me in the coolest suit  _ever,_ a guy who can smash those bombs up until they're little bitty pieces and skip even getting a mild tan from the radiation, and Harry, who will just turn them into fish, I imagine. Well, there's also a goddess, but you don't know about her yet, I think."

"...What?"

"You'll find out, eventually. Don't worry too much about it, I think you have a pretty full plate already." He shrugged. "I'm sending everything to Bruce and Harry soon enough, so they're effectively listening in already. I have all the known data for the bombs that should allow us to track down the exact position of the A.I.M. base. When are we moving out?"

Fury sighed. "I really would have preferred to have this conversation on the Helicarrier. This is a make-or-break mission, you understand?"

Tony frowned. "Hey, last time  _I_  made a house call. I figured you could return the favour. Propellant for the suit isn't free, you know."

Fury blinked. "Doesn't it run on arc reactor energy?"

"A technicality," Tony replied. "Now, plans. We have our little team of four - roll with it - who can probably wipe out the entire base. Especially Harry, I think, with that fire of his. If he gets Bruce ready... there won't be a brick left standing." He tapped the map and frowned. "It's in Chile, eh? I think we can Portkey or Side-Along over the border, none of that pesky military interference. Don't worry about what those are, I've got it covered. We'll need someone present to shoot down any of their projectiles if they fire them, though. I'm thinking whoever runs A.I.M. has twitchy fingers on the trigger, given what happened with the Mark I of my suit."

"If we shoot down a nuke, we'll have to deal with fallout, and considering the kind of thing that happened to Dr. Banner, I would prefer nobody was exposed to this stuff," Fury observed. "These things have to be disarmed, or at least dropped somewhere relatively safe. Depositing them in water would still cause a small ecological disaster if it was anywhere near the coast, but the people would probably survive."

"And you'd have giant hulked-out sharks within a couple years," Tony said dryly. "I have one idea, but you're not going to like it much. Latch a couple repulsors on them, set them to maximum thrust."

"...You want to make them faster?"

Tony smiled. "Correct. Of course any missile would attempt to course-correct for the increased speed, if it has any sophistication at all. Repulsors with their own power-supply could reach a pretty impressive speed, which is why I'm already trying to figure out ways of getting it to NASA without the military stepping in..."

"NASA?" Fury repeated, shaking his head. "You want to send the damn things into space?"

"If you add enough speed to a rocket, even one that's trying to head down towards Earth, sooner or later it's going to fail and end up circling the earth, the ground curving away at the same rate as it is trying to fall. Orbit, or an outward trajectory towards the moon or wherever else. Then, when they're nice and snug up there, I detonate the arc reactor. Big boom. Granted, fallout in space would probably still be a bad thing, but it's easy enough to blast away considering all the hardware I know the military has sent up. The debris would go off into the black instead of raining down on our neighbourhood, or if did come down, it'd burn up in the atmosphere."

Fury sighed. "This would work?"

Tony shrugged. "Probably. I have alternatives, but I'll need Bruce or Harry to give input on those. I imagine if we get to the bombs before they're launched, we'd be able to knock them out easily enough - it's the flying ones that'd be trouble."

"Contact Dr. Banner and Harry as soon as you can, and tell them to hurry back here. We can't wait a week." Fury stood up, brushing off his jacket. "By the way, is there any reason there is a hole in your roof?"

"Easy entry for the suit," Tony said easily. "Always wanted to fix it up, but I figure that sooner or later Harry will get annoyed enough by the draft that he'll do it for me."

* * *

Harry couldn't move, no matter how much he tried. He stood a foot behind the grave of Rebecca Banner; a young Bruce Banner stood before it, his eyes closed, almost shedding a tear. Good, he was in the memory, Bruce's memory.

"What are  _you_  doing here?" Brian Banner said sharply as he approached his wife's grave. He scowled darkly, staring briefly at the headstone, and then back at his son. "Here of all places?"

"What a stupid question," Bruce replied, turning to face his father. His expression was remarkably collected. "Where else would I be, on the anniversary of mom's murder?"

Brian spat on the ground, glaring at his son with such loathing that Harry wasn't sure what to think of it. "You have a lot of nerve, coming out here, today,  _Bruce._ " He shook his head firmly. "This isn't a place fit for monsters, least of all you." He stepped forward then, grabbing Bruce by the arm. "Back off!"

Bruce tried to pull free, but Brian simply held on, twisting his arm. After a short scuffle Brian ended up throwing his son to the ground. Bruce tiredly turned, and stared at his father. "You are still suffering that delusion, aren't you? Even after all these years in the mental hospital, you haven't changed even the tiniest bit... You still believe I'm a monster."

"Your mother was a fool for not seeing it," Brian snarled in response, pacing back and forth. "I knew what you were, and she knew too, I'm certain of it. She was far too kind to you. She let you grow to manhood, with that  _evil_ still inside of you. She knew you were a monster, and let you live!"

"The only monster is you," Bruce muttered shaking his head. "The only evil I see is when a man cursed his son and killed his wife over a madman's dream. I was never a monster. I was intelligent, and you feared that. I was insightful, and you saw it as a sign of darkness."

"It's not your actions that make you a monster," Brian said, scowling. "I swore to myself that I would never have children, that I would never pass on my curse. You were an accident, a mistake. With every step you took. you convinced me more that the same darkness had infected you, and you are not as careful as I am about it. You will spread it, spread that cancer of mine."

"You're crazy," Bruce said. "You know that I work in a high-profile laboratory these days. Cutting-edge stuff. I'm making something of my life, and you never did. That's what has you jealous, not this idea that I am somehow flawed because of you. Perhaps you should look in the mirror."

The kick was vicious. One moment Bruce was upright, the next he crumpled to the ground holding his stomach, and a cry of pain escaped him. Brian balled his fists, staring down at his son with a scowl, and he slowly bent over to pick up a sharp rock, the edges gleaming. "I don't do this for my own sake, you know," Brian swore. "You are the demon spawn. You have to be  _destroyed_!" He snarled as he sent his fist flying, the razor-sharp rock in his hand aiming to slice his son's neck.

Harry didn't miss the vicious snarl that formed on Bruce's face a split second before. "Not. Again." He kicked out in retaliation, hitting his father right in the knee. The man cried out in pain as he grasped at his leg, dropping his stone to the ground. He fell, and for a moment things seemed frozen in time. Brian crashed against his wife's headstone. There was an awful cracking noise, and Harry tried to recoil. Blood poured down the stone.

"No..." Bruce scrambled upright, eyes wide. "Dad? Dad!" He stooped next to the body, and he shuddered, pale as bone. "NO!"

Harry could only watch in terror as Bruce stared down on the body of his father in a mix of horror and relief, and for a moment he looked utterly insane, his eyes seeming almost to glow green. Then, he fled, and there was no intelligence there. He ran like a man possessed, crazed.

Brian Banner was dead, and the rain was slowly ruining any evidence the police might have had for determining what happened here. Bruce's footprints were washed away, even the blood soaked into the ground. Come morning, they'd find him, and the police wouldn't look too deeply into his death, all too aware of what an awful human being he'd been. Bruce fled, and he never really stopped running. What happened here had been burned into his mind so strongly that he'd rejected it outright. Blocked it out.

That flash of rage, that sudden burst of energy that Bruce had when facing his father's attacks, it was far too recognizable. For a moment, he and his father had been two people utterly consumed by their anger. Brian Banner had only come off as an angry drunk, though, swinging wildly. Bruce had been brutal: A single blow, and he'd taken out his father. By accident, perhaps, and it was certainly a justified retaliation, but still.

Brian Banner had argued that his son inherited the traits of a monster from him. He'd seen the volatile and raging aspect of Brian several times now. He'd seen the same from Bruce, up close and personal. Here in the graveyard - long before Bruce would start messing with his own genetics, before he even went into gamma research - the Hulk was born. For a split second, something else had taken over, some aspect of Bruce that had more of his strengths, fewer of his weaknesses, and without Bruce's conscious interference, far more aggression and hate.

Perhaps Bruce's father had been right about something – there was something different about Bruce. Something he might've inherited, or developed on his own in his youth when his father insisted that there was something utterly wrong with his son. Whatever that was, it had been unleashed by the effects of Bruce's research, but had not been created by it.

And it had saved his life.

* * *

"Harry? Hello, can anyone hear me?"

Sif looked up from tending to Harry's unconscious body, frowning. The voice was coming from nearby, but... "Who speaks?"

"Ah, it's our resident warrior goddess! Is Harry there with you? I've been trying to call his cell for the last hour, but I guess he'd turned it off again. He said this was for emergencies, but I think right now counts."

Sif followed the voice and quickly rummaged through Harry's jacket, retrieving a very tiny box from an inside pocket. Inside was a picture of Tony Stark less than an inch wide, staring up at her with a smile.

"There we go! You're still gorgeous, by the way. Anyway, can you fetch me Harry?"

"He is ... indisposed," Sif said. "He was going to attempt something and told me to watch him, and it might take some time before he wakes up. It is as if his spirit has vanished, though his body remains behind. I have never heard of the Seidr becoming capable of spirit walking to that extent, but I imagine there is much I do not know." She sniffed. "It is morning, soon – I imagine he will wake up soon so we can continue our trek."

"Harry's gone out for a little astral projection," Tony concluded. "I shouldn't be surprised, really. Where's Bruce?"

Sif glanced in the distance. "He is currently large and green."

"Ah," Tony said, pausing. "Listen, I need those two up and back here, and  _soon_. A.I.M.'s turning out to be a tiny bit nastier than we'd anticipated, and they might have the capability to wipe a couple major cities off the Earth. The current model of the Iron Man on its own won't cut it. Get those two healthy and back here on the double, will you?"

Sif nodded, glancing at Harry. "I will see to it."

* * *

Harry groaned painfully, dragging himself upright. Every muscle ached, and so did his bones. It felt like he'd just swallowed a good dose of Skele-Gro and it was kicking in. Faux-Voldemort hadn't been kidding. Slowly he turned to see Sif, sitting nearby. She was staring at the horizon, a familiar box in her hands.

"How long did that take?" he asked.

Sif turned, and smiled. "Ah, you have awakened. I had suspected it would be before morning. It has been a large part of the night, as you can no doubt tell."

Harry frowned, staring at the sun just peeking over the horizon. Quite a few hours, then; more than he'd anticipated. He would have berated himself for his complete foolishness in what he'd done with the memory. Things were coming back to him now, at last. He had biger fish to fry, though. "Why do you have the emergency mirror?"

Sif held up the mirror and shrugged. "Mr. Stark contacted you while you were gone. I retrieved the mirror and spoke to him. It seems that he requires your presence sooner than anticipated. I would suggest that you use the alternative method that you hinted at, sending me back early."

Harry frowned. "Did he say what happened?"

"It was something about so-called 'Aim' and destroyed cities," Sif said with a shrug, and Harry stared. "You should ask him yourself, I would say."

"I will," Harry muttered. "That could be about half a dozen things, and most of them are horrible. I'll have to get Bruce at top speed and hope that I can at least get him somewhere safe, even if he probably won't be coming along." He blinked as he looked down at himself. "Wait... how am I wearing my spare trousers?"

"I thought you would prefer fresh clothing in the morning," Sif said, shrugging. "You brought a second set for a reason, did you not?"

"You unclothed me?" Harry asked incredulously. " _Why_?"

Sif frowned. "That seems obvious. You were unconscious. You were not going to do it yourself."

Harry just spluttered indignantly.

"It's as if you think I have never seen a man before," Sif muttered, frowning. "Seidr are nearly indistinguishable from Asgardians, there are no extra parts."

A look of horror crossed over Harry's face. "Did you… did you  _change my underwear too?"_


	20. Control

"These people really don't like us, do they?" Harry asked tiredly. "First that mess in town, flying death machines, and now nuclear bombs? Just our luck."

"No kidding," Tony answered dryly. "Director Fury is calling everyone together. I told him you'd be heading back here just so he'd stop trying to drag me to his fancy barge in the sky. You've got maybe half a day to finish what you're doing out there before he starts getting on our nerves."

"I'll be back in time. Hopefully I'll bring the big guy too." Harry sighed, shaking his head. "I can't very well leave him alone out here. We had a week, that was what he agreed on, not this pathetically short weekend. Honestly, even I can't work miracles."

"Can you walk on water?"

Harry paused. "Does it have to be liquid at the time?"

Tony smiled. "Hah. I didn't hear a negative. Going by previous evidence, I'll take that as a yes. So, how about multiplying bread and fish? Coming back from the dead?"

"Are you sure you want to know the answer to that stuff?" Harry wondered, raising an eyebrow. "Anyway, I'm going to track down Bruce the quickest way I know. Get some socks ready for me when I get back, alright?"

"Why on earth does it always have to be socks?" Tony muttered in annoyance.

Harry shrugged. "A little nostalgia and fun, of course. Anyway, now I have to concentrate on how I can get Bruce to come with. I've got an idea or two, but they're pretty risky."

"Why?"

"I'm going to try and make him angry," Harry said darkly. "Really angry."

Tony shook his head. "Well, at least you're still your mildly insane self. Do whatever you have to do, try to keep him away from cities when he does his terrifying green thing. Also, I'd like to keep my house intact, thank you. Aim for the pond." He frowned. "Could you hurry things up a bit, by the way? I've got a few ideas that I want to play by you, and Fury's adamant that you should be here. I'm not sure why, but I suspect that the army's closing in on what's going on."

"That, or he's aware that I'm out here with Sif, and he doesn't like me hanging out with people he doesn't know. I wouldn't be surprised if he was watching me right now via a satellite." He glanced up. "At least he probably can't listen in."

"That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I only listen in occasionally, you know. Can you imagine how distracting it is to have that voice of his in my head? Fury will wait for me, I'm certain of it. He's gotten it into his head that I'm the one he needs for one of his cockamamie plans, and he's keeping it frustratingly vague, even in private."

"He's a spy, Harry. Hell, he's  _the_  spy. Even his secrets have secrets. Incidentally, I have quite enough with just my own voice in my head, let alone others." He looked over his shoulder momentarily. "I think we've spent enough time waffling, there's work to be done and not enough time to do it. Get to it."

"Slave driver." Harry muttered as he closed the mirror's little case, slipping it in his pouch. He retrieved the Elder Wand at the same time, just in case. Facing the Hulk was a pretty likely outcome, and he would certainly not go in without the boost in power that the wand would give him. Hopefully he wouldn't need to use it at all.

"Seidmadr."

Harry jumped, the wand aimed right at Sif as he twirled around. He immediately lowered it again, sighing in relief. "Bloody hell, do you have to sneak up on people? Someday you're going to find yourself with an extra nose or a face full of tentacles!"

Sif snorted. "It is not my fault you were startled. You were just inattentive."

Harry muttered something uncomplimentary. "Tony says we're running out of time. There have been some developments, so we're going to have to get back early."

"Now? What of your friend?" She frowned.

"I'm going after him," Harry confirmed. "Whatever else we might end up doing, I need to make sure he's safe, at least. I don't think the speed I can reach on a broom will be enough if you're coming along as well. I pushed it as far as it could go yesterday, and even then it protested. Besides, I don't think that going much faster would be something you'd enjoy."

Sif just sniffed, but her distrustful look towards the Firebolt said enough.

"I'm going alone, as quickly as I can," Harry said at last. "That's the only way I can see this working."

"You cannot leave me out here in the desert," Sif said, sounding affronted. "Is there no other way by which I could travel with you at speed? I could traverse the distance on foot, but it would take time."

Harry frowned. His broom would only take so much extra ballast before it'd start dropping out of the sky, and he was certainly not breaking out his newer broom if he had to take her along somehow. "I've got it!"

Sif stared confusedly as Harry retrieved his wand, twirling it in a complex pattern. It took her a moment to realize that she was very slowly floating up from the ground. "What is this?" she asked, more curious than scared. "Gravity's hold..."

"Feather-light charm," Harry said. "Granted, it's an overpowered one, but it should work well enough for a passenger. As long as you make sure you keep hold of something, you should be fine. Since you weigh nearly nothing, you won't have to hold on tightly, either." Harry sighed. "Thank goodness for that."

Sif very slowly wafted herself over to the broom, and Harry looked on with some amusement. He'd never actually considered using such a spell on a person before, since the last time he'd tried it, back in Hogwarts, the effect had failed entirely. Of course, he hadn't been using a ludicrously powerful wand at the time, either. Using it on himself would probably be a bad idea; he had no idea how to control a broom without at least some sense of how he was positioned, and weighing nothing would do little to help with that. He quickly swung a leg over his broom and waited until Sif had grabbed hold.

"Comfortable?"

"As much as I can be," Sif said, prodding Harry in the back. "Move."

The broom shot away at such a speed that both riders flinched at the wind that cut past them. Half the mass made a large difference and Harry cut across the rugged terrain towards the distant horizon, eyes peeled for signs of life.

Sif just held on for dear life. "Why did I ever agree to do this?" She muttered distractedly. "Thor will laugh himself silly when he hears..."

* * *

"What did you do to this thing? The armour has to be twice as thick as on the other one." Rhodey walked around the suit with a raised eyebrow. "You added more flight surfaces? As if the thing wasn't jam-packed with the things already? Is that another one of your arc reactors?"

"It's a more compact low-yield version, actually," Tony said, shrugging. "There's another one of those in the other shoulder, but Jarvis hasn't finished its checks yet. The shoulders are the best places to put them since there they don't interfere with half a dozen other systems. I would've made adjustments, but I was on a tight schedule." He smiled deviously. "These babies will keep my repulsors going for ages. Granted, they'll inevitably burn out since they're hardly as stable as my usual ones, but this isn't a terribly long-term mission."

Rhodey shook his head. "You designed and developed a new variation of the Iron Man armour in two days? Did you even sleep?"

"What is this sleep you speak of? Actually, I was working on a heavier variant since that mess in the city happened, but mostly you're right. This one's cobbled together a little, but it'll do the job. As a bonus, I'm practically radiation-proof in that thing, so I should be able to tackle those bombs manually if I have to. Could drag them into the stratosphere with me before they blow."

"You shouldn't joke about things like that."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "It's not like I'd be there when they went off, Rhodey. You've known me long enough to know that I'm not that stupid. Anyway, I considered doing more work on this thing, but without more combat experience against the idiots we're facing I don't know what would be most effective. I've already got localized EMP and blast shielding, but I can't do much more without redesigning whole systems, and that would take more time than I have."

Rhodey sighed. "You should consider letting the military handle this one. What's a single suit going to do against a small army? Even this thing can't take the kind of barrage they'd deliver..."

"The army's no use," Tony answered shortly. "It's not a slight against you, by the way. It's a slight against the government. With all our assets tied up in that Middle-Eastern mess and Homeland Security involved in pointless run-arounds, the military doesn't have the resources to tackle something like this in a timely manner. It's not a surprise that A.I.M. chose now to ready their arsenal: We're vulnerable. In time, I'm sure that the full force of the army would be ready, but by that time..."

"They'll knock out a few major cities before that's possible," Rhodey filled in, grimacing. "We must have military forces stationed back here, though. Heck,  _I'm_ here."

"Sure, but all that's available is out-dated and poorly organized. They'd be outgunned. The last few years the military has been all about warlords and Afghan caves and whatever else, so there's little development of internal defensive measures. I suppose they were confident that nobody would step up to the plate to be a threat. You see how that turns out? The fringes were free to innovate, to develop their technology without too much interference by the big man."

"...Fringes?"

"Extremely smart, extremely dangerous," Tony summarized. "I suppose I'm one example. Despite all the weapons technology that I was pouring into development overseas, I didn't get to make the really impressive stuff that I'd envisioned. I had lots of crazy ideas but never got to try them. Military funding would only support known technologies; they were playing it safe. They backed away from the front line of the arms race after a string of failures, and they haven't gotten back to it yet."

"...So?"

"The Iron Man armour happened despite the military, not because of it. There are others – many, I suspect – that have been tinkering with the same kind of high-grade technology, the next step in weapons technology, while the government refuses to accept that others might succeed where it failed. A.I.M. has been developing a branch of technology that was abandoned more than forty years ago, after nuclear treaties _._ The army's doing nothing of the kind." He ran a hand through his hair tiredly. "You know what I found when I hacked into the army's database? Conventional bombs, conventional guns, maybe the occasional mention in hushed tones of nuclear energy. No repulsors. No gamma generators. Not even autonomous A.I. for that matter, and Jarvis is a testament to its usefulness."

" _Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Stark."_ Jarvis intoned.

"You're saying that we're losing the arms race?" Rhodey asked incredulously. "With our Research and Development budget?"

"I'm not saying you're losing," Tony answered dryly. "I'm saying you already lost. Sorry about that."

Rhodey rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Last I checked we're winning the wars we're involved in. Whether or not the technology is up to the great Tony Stark's standards is beside the point then, isn't it?"

Tony smiled knowingly. "Perhaps the old stuff is enough against savages in their caves, who like to kidnap rich people and make them build bombs. Loathe as I am to say it, those aren't the biggest threat." He turned back to his new suit. "Even if we totally ignore my suit, or the Mark I that attacked my building, or the fact that a terrorist organization managed to construct a bomb more powerful than any the United States can cough up, you're  _still_ screwed."

Rhodey just raised an eyebrow.

"The green giant you saw on the television, the Hulk? Yeah, he's on my team these days. Bit unpredictable, have to work on that, but he's one of the few who get my more clever jokes."

"Now I can't even tell when you're joking anymore."

"I'm not," Tony said seriously, and Rhodey blinked. "You know what the green thing is all about? He's the result of one of our own experiments in enhancing a person's ability to withstand gamma radiation, one in a long string of attempts to replicate the sort of things we were doing back in the Second World War, which tells you something about how far we've fallen. It was, funded by the military, and they've been trying to get him back for years, now."

"You're telling me he's a fugitive?"

Tony ignored that question entirely. "You know what he represents? He is the best that the army came up with since the first super-soldier, Captain America. The best they have is a multi-ton giant with rage issues. Sixty years of research and development went into that." He shook his head tiredly. "Somewhere along the way the government lost the will or ability to make something like that happen."

"You know, if you keep spilling this kind of stuff to me, I might just walk to my superiors and –"

"You won't," Tony said, glaring. "You can rag on me all you want, but I know that you would keep this in confidence. The only reason you might do something like that is if you thought I'd gone mad. You've seen the television footage probably more than I did, so you know that what I'm talking about is real. The Hulk, the Magician, the Iron Man, we're just the appetizer."

"Those others... they live here," Rhodey said, after a moment. "Don't they?"

"Yes."

Rhodey smiled, though it took effort. "Figures. When I heard about two men hanging out at your place, I briefly wondered if you'd switched teams somewhere along the way and nobody informed me."

Tony blanched. "No disrespect to those guys, but my type is hot, blond and definitely female."

"Good to know," Rhodey sighed, stretching out. "Now, I have to know. Why are you aiding and abetting a fugitive from the American government?"

"Mostly because Harry asked," Tony said. "He's the Magician, by the way. Don't spread it around; he's not much into publicity. Completely baffling how someone wouldn't want to stand in the spotlight, but what can you do?"

"So, since when does the great Tony Stark dance to someone else's tunes?" Rhodey asked sceptically. "I wouldn't expect you to be so sentimental about that thing in Afghanistan."

"He's told me a few things," Tony said simply, pouring himself a glass of wine. "There are not too many secrets between us three, since we ended up with this weird team thing. Bruce has a vast collection of issues that are plain on the surface. Harry's are less so, but they're there." He chugged down his glass in one go and sighed. "I guess that's what you need to be one of the crew, though. Add a little crazy to a little awesome, there you go."

"Tony, what the hell did you pull me into now?" He shook his head. "This is so..."

"Amazing? I totally agree. Now, since I'm about to head out to defend America, the world, and whatever else is good and beautiful, I'm going to have to update my song collection. If you'll excuse me... "

"You're going to Chile to bomb a military base. That's a bit proactive as far as 'defence' goes, isn't it?" Rhodey asked, smirking slightly.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Did you not just return from Afghanistan? We've been doing this kind of thing everywhere else. The difference is I'll do it well." He waved over his shoulder. "If you break anything, you'll have to repair it. So, I think I would be careful before I touched any of the repulsors."

* * *

The wind ruffled through his hair and Harry had to squint against the rushing wind, trying to keep himself directed towards Bruce's location. His Firebolt, old as it was, still had quite a bit of power in it, and riding it at its fastest speed was something that required concentration even for the best of Seekers. Having Sif hanging on like she could flutter away in the breeze at any moment certainly wasn't helping matters.

Bruce had gotten quite a distance away, and Harry realized that even at this speed he'd only have an hour or two to convince him to return. That wasn't really what dominated his thoughts, though. There were a few ways he figured he could work with Bruce. Clearly the man blamed himself for what happened in that graveyard, for the death of his father. The only way that he could see that would help Bruce get some semblance of self-respect back was to... confront him with the truth until he accepted it.

Unfortunately, convincing Bruce that his father had been a colossal bastard would probably just rile him up, and bad things happened when he got that angry. Though Harry was sure that Bruce realized on some level that there had been an attempted murder in the graveyard, it was buried under a torrent of suddenly released guilt. He knew that all too well, now. He'd briefly experienced it himself, and the memory that he'd foolishly put in his head wouldn't simply go away.

Harry thought back to that memory. At the time that it'd happened, Bruce had for the first time shown anger instead of fear towards his father's actions, he was sure. The confrontation had been a long time coming, and Brian Banner relished in the fact that he saw a reflection of himself: that rage that seemed to have been a major aspect of the man's personality for years, and his son's refusal to give in had sent him over the edge. Had he been that mad all along?

There was one other thing that kept working its way to the forefront of his mind. Voldemort, or whoever had been wearing that pale skin in that moment of strange clarity when he'd been inside one of his own memories. He had never become terribly good at Occlumency, but he was certain that he should have noticed someone breaking into his mind. Still, the figure had claimed that Harry's mind was wide open after the little stunt he pulled with Bruce's memory, and that would certainly be possible. Did that mean he'd invaded just to set things right? He hadn't sounded terribly friendly, but neither had he inflicted harm... Was it a friend, or a foe?

There had to be a reason for his appearance, now of all times. Why would someone use Legilimency to talk with him, but not face him in person? It had to be a wizard, but Sif had said nothing about others, and had seemed quite convinced he was the only one around.

Harry started as he realized that the tracking charm that had been pointing in the same direction for hours suddenly veered off. He was close, very close. Slowing down to a more manageable pace, he scanned the ground below him. There were a few holes, probably from the Hulk's ridiculously huge leaps, but then they just... stopped. "Sif, I think we're there." He quickly cancelled the Feather-light Charm and Sif's weight suddenly returned.

"Odin be praised," she muttered almost inaudibly.

Harry smiled as he very slowly set down near a huge outcropping of rocks, several of which were broken and strewn across the soil as if by a great impact. Harry had a suspicion what that had been. "Bruce, are you here?" he yelled.

"I can hear his breathing," Sif said, and Harry blinked.

"Really? Pretty impressive. I suppose that's the Asgardian thing, then?" He glanced between the tall spires of rock and debris to find a glimpse of his target. "Can you point me in the right direction?"

"Certainly," Sif agreed, stepping over to a tall boulder. With a quick motion that Harry could barely follow she'd clambered on top of it and onto the rock directly next to it. She stopped more than fifteen meters up, staring down at him impatiently.

"... I thought you were afraid of heights?"

"I told you- "

"Yes, yes." Harry muttered. "Highest spire, tallest giant, whatever." He shook his head tiredly. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Harry elected to do things the easy way and simply soared up to her with his broom. There was a deep crevice that ran into the outcropping, and inside, Harry finally saw him. "Bruce."

The man was shivering, though probably not from the cold. Slowly he looked up towards Harry with darkened eyes. His gaze was utterly empty, like that of a Dementor's victim, and Harry had the urge to look away. He glided to the ground and stepped off, though Bruce didn't even seem to notice it. He just sat there, gazing into the sky. Sif hesitantly stepped into the crevice behind him; inside the outcropping was something like a cave, carved by giant hands with incredible power.

"Bruce, say something."

The man sighed, turning his head away. "Leave me alone."

Harry sighed, stepping forward. "Honestly, Bruce, did you really think I'd let you alone after what happened back there? I didn't do so back in Brazil, and I'm certainly not going to leave you alone now. Talk to me."

Bruce just stared into the distance, ignoring him. Finally he looked back with those empty eyes. "What do you want?"

"I know what happened, back in the shed." He began. "I know that you regained a memory, one that you'd been blocking out. You regained a memory that you didn't even know you'd forgotten. I believe I even know why you lost it in the first place."

"You know  _nothing_." Bruce said, slowly shaking his head.

"Don't dismiss me like that," Harry replied sharply, and Bruce's head snapped up. "I know exactly what you saw, and what it meant. I saw the argument you had with your father, the fight that broke out there. I know, Bruce. I know that you blame yourself for the events of that night. You weren't responsible for what happened."

Bruce was silent for a long time. Finally he shook his head. "I am responsible. I... killed him. I'm no better than the monster he thought I was." He turned away again, that empty gaze resting on the soil before his feet. "He was right."

"Nonsense," Harry said immediately, stooping next to Bruce. "Your father chose to do what he did. He came to that graveyard of his own free will, and he tried to murder you. Do you realize that? He died trying to kill you." Harry picked up a rock from the ground and Bruce winced in recognition. "You know what he tried to do, and you probably realize that you were fully within your right to defend yourself. Even if you'd intentionally hurt him, you should not feel guilty about saving your own life. But you didn't harm him knowingly, did you?"

"I... don't know." Bruce looked away. "I was so angry... I couldn't see straight. I wanted to hurt him, to put him in the hospital..."

Harry blinked. "I'd like to point out that you said hospital, not grave." Harry conjured a blanket to cover Bruce, since there wasn't much left of his clothes. He slumped down next to the man, shoving his glasses high up his nose. "I saw it all, Bruce. I know that you attempted to cripple him – cripple, not kill. You kicked him in the knee, hardly a lethal blow. That hit against the headstone was an accident, you couldn't have predicted that. It wasn't your intent to do that, I am certain."

"I should never have fought him in the first place," Bruce said sharply. "Dad attacked me because I stood up to him. He attacked me because I fed his delusion. If I hadn't, perhaps he'd just left again."

"You can't know what might've happened, and you cannot control your father's actions," Harry said, shaking his head. He looked away, thoughts in turmoil. "I can understand that you blame yourself for what happened. I did the same, more than once." He sighed, twirling the Elder Wand between his fingers. "I'm sure you've realized by now that I was involved in ... hostilities, once. We called it a war and it sure felt like one."

"A war?"

"For a small community, even a small conflict can seem like one," Harry said morosely. "The year after things got heated again, I was lured away by my enemy. I believed that they'd caught my godfather. I thought they were keeping him captive, and I went to free him. I took a few of my closest friends and went there. It was an ambush, and some people almost died... and one did." Harry sighed deeply. "My godfather, Sirius, died that day. He came to rescue me, and in the process he paid the ultimate price. I saw him die with my own eyes. If I hadn't gone to save him, hadn't stepped into that trap, he wouldn't have died at all. I blamed myself for a long time for what happened there. I wondered what I could have done, what I should have done. The blame is on them, on the enemy - on the one who killed him."

Bruce looked stricken. "I'm... sorry for your loss."

"It's been years since that happened," Harry said morosely. "I have come to accept that his death wasn't just my fault. I can blame myself forever for what I should have done, but I know that it would be unfair. To me, to him, to everyone involved. You... are you any different? You didn't come to that graveyard for a confrontation. You had nothing to do with your father's choices. The fall he made that cost him his life was not something you'd ever intended."

"He was... mentally ill," Bruce said after a moment. "I knew that he'd been like that for a long time. He had delusions, fits of anger. He was declared cured, but I didn't believe it, even then. He hadn't changed a bit since the last time I'd seen him, except in age. He was... the same."

"It was not a coincidence that he was there that night, was it?" Harry said suddenly. "He came to the graveyard that night, knowing you'd be there. He must've been aware that on the anniversary of her death you'd be at her grave. He was declared cured, you say, but he certainly didn't act like it in that memory." Harry grimaced. "He came out there that night... intending to confront you. Perhaps intending to try what he did."

"He was insane," Bruce exclaimed, almost pleading.

"Was he?" Harry said boldly. "I saw him in that memory. He knew exactly what he was doing. He believed you wouldn't have the strength to beat him. He made sure to catch you somewhere without any observers, without any interference. He was fully aware what could happen between you two, and he went through with it. The only reason you survive is because of that rage, that moment of violence."

"No!" Bruce stood up, wrapping the blanket around himself. "I can't believe that!"

"That rage-filled part of you never left again," Harry said simply. "You know what I mean, don't you?"

"You're talking about the other guy," Bruce said, shaking his head.

Harry nodded. "You know the stories about people in situations of extreme distress that do amazing things? I always figured it was just accidental magic, but what if it isn't? I think that's what you did. You called on something you already possessed, something that you'd stuffed away, and it broke loose."

Bruce shook his head, trying to control his breathing. "That's impossible. That was years before the experiment!"

Harry shrugged. "I think the other guy, the Hulk, has been with you since the graveyard or perhaps before," he said wryly. "That moment when you fought off your father, when you let out that rage of yours, I think that's where it was born. The other guy seems like it is a part of you that takes over when things got too tough, a defensive mechanism born from your own mind. If I can hazard a guess that you were suppressing your anger, before these things happened. You grew up with the knowledge that acting strangely, erratically, would raise your father's ire. Didn't you?"

Bruce just stared, and Harry took that as confirmation.

"What burst out that day, I believe, was all that you'd pushed away for those years. It all came to the surface in one instant, a whole part of your personality that you didn't accept, that you tried to get rid of." Harry sighed as he thought back to the memory he'd seen. "Even if you didn't believe your father, I think you internalized a lot of his beliefs, of the delusional claims he made about you. I don't think the experiment you told me about was what created this second personality, or your ability to fall back on it in times of extreme distress. It just made you more efficient at it."

"I..." Bruce stuttered, holding a hand over his heart and taking deep breaths. "You're basing your ideas on nothing at all, are you? You're just guessing, hoping that something will work." He spit. "Are you? Lying, just to get me to go back with you?"

"I'm making an educated guess," Harry confessed. "I don't know if I'm correct, but it would make sense. The Hulk's not some monstrous second being that lives inside you because of an experiment. That's why it recognized me, why it didn't smash me to a pulp the first time it saw me. It's a part of you that you pushed away, a part that feels genuine anger and rage and other extremes like that, and you've been trying to stuff it away even more than you ever did since the experiment happened."

"Harry," Bruce said at last, and there was fire in his eyes again. "You can think of as many hypotheses as you wish, but that's what they are. You don't  _know_  any of this, despite your bold assertions! These memories should have remained buried! I was perfectly fine thinking that my father had been mugged, and all you've done is made things worse. You're blaming everything on my father when the only things you know about him are from one damn memory!"

Harry frowned. "Bruce, I do have some experience with people who want to kill me; I know that look in their eyes. I am not mistaken; I know what I saw. I also know what I saw in your eyes that day."

"What, you want me to just trust everything you say? You, who's been keeping secrets from the rest of us since the day you arrived? Who keeps giving half an answer or half a story, keeping the details to yourself?" Bruce rubbed his eyes tiredly. "My father is dead, Harry. Dead and buried, and there's no way to find out if you were right. Even  _you_  can't talk to the dead."

Harry froze. The seconds ticked by.

Bruce looked up, his face pale. "...Can you?"

* * *

"Heimdall!"

Heimdall smiled, nodding. He'd seen the man coming ever since he left the palace, but it had only been clear where he was heading in the last few minutes. It was not often that someone made their way to the bridge, especially not  _this_ person. "What brings you to the Bifrost, son of Odin?"

Thor Odinson raised his hammer and rested it on his shoulder, gazing off into the blackness beyond the bridge with a curious expression. He wiped his blond hair out of his eyes and shrugged. "I came to inquire about the lady Sif. Father is very tight-lipped about her whereabouts, but he did tell me that I should ask you."

"Yes, I'm sure he did," Heimdall retorted, smiling wryly. "He does like to hand the difficult tasks to me, does he not? It is no great secret  _where_  the lady is, though. She has travelled to Midgard."

"Midgard?" Thor said shortly, blinking. "There has been no transport from Asgard to that place in many centuries! For what purpose was this commanded?"

"That is not mine to divulge, as you well know," Heimdall said simply. "The All-Father knows who is best for a given task, and he elected Sif for this one. Do not see it as a slight. I highly doubt that there is much violence involved. Certainly not enough to sate your appetite." He smiled, glancing at Mjolnir. "Should you not be preparing for the coronation? It is not so far away now, and I am certain that there are many lessons yet to be learned about your future role."

"True, though I was here for a second reason." He smiled as he glanced at the bridge. "There's no chance you'd let me slip down to Midgard? I would be interested to see what has happened there with the passing ages."

"Thor..."

"I know, I should not do such a thing without permission," Thor said, shrugging. "Perhaps I could convince others to join me? Oh, the humans will tremble when the clarion calls resound! Our victories shall be the stuff of legends!"

Heimdall sighed deeply. "Can you not go pester that irritating brother of yours?"

Thor frowned. "Loki? I have not seen him in some time. I wonder where he's gone off to." His eyes shot to Heimdall's. "Did he go to Midgard as well?"

"No," Heimdall said simply. "I have not seen him in some time, and he has certainly not passed this place. Perhaps you should search for him in the libraries and drinking halls? He has disappeared for weeks before; it is most certainly nothing new. Perhaps he is in the treasury. He does appreciate those ancient relics."

"I will search for him," Thor agreed. "Oh, and Heimdall? If Sif gets herself in more trouble than she can handle, I offer my services to retrieve her." He smiled thinly. "I would appreciate her presence at the crowning."

"I will consider it, should it become necessary," Heimdall agreed, glancing worriedly at the Bifrost. "I certainly will..."

* * *

"Three surveillance drones have been deployed," Agent Triers announced, turning away from his computer screen with a sigh. "Now it's another waiting game, I suppose. Coulson, are we there yet?"

"That's the fifth time you asked me that this hour," Coulson replied testily. "We're still moving at top speed, and there's no reason to change that. We'll be in position within the hour."

Triers nodded. "I wonder why the Director thinks this is a good idea, moving the Helicarrier so close to land. There's a pretty good chance someone will notice us, even if we're just floating in water instead of the air..."

"We're staying far enough away from the coast to avoid that, and there's been an official military warning to clear the sea near here, so we should have minimal interference. I figured I should warn you that things might get a little busy here, when this whole party gets started." He smiled. "This is the kind of thing I dreamed of when I was a kid, you know. I'm a big fan of Captain America, and these new guys are like the modern-day equivalent, right?"

"A flying tin can and the weirdest bastard I've ever met? I don't see it." Triers shrugged. "When I found out that someone had managed to not only sneak into the deepest part of the Helicarrier but even made off with the Director's personal effects, I saw faces in the shadows all day. Gave me the creeps!"

"They're supposed to arrive within two hours with the Director, so you'll have the chance to be a fan-boy then. For now, I think you should keep an eye on our radar and so forth, make sure that we're not noticed by every hick in L.A. We're already too close to the city as it is."

Triers nodded, frowning. "I checked the flights that are involved in this mission, and it doesn't make any sense. We're an aircraft carrier, why the hell do we only have six working airplanes?"

Coulson smiled. "Six with stealth capability good enough to beat Chile's national defence network. You know what that country would do if we flew in there with U.S. airplanes without any authorization or warning? They'd go completely nuts."

"Less chatter, more work," Triers muttered, smiling. "I see why having the Director around might be a good thing. Keeps things organized and appropriately cowed."

"I do have to wonder," Coulson said after a while, staring at his monitor. "With Stark's weaponry now under S.H.I.E.L.D. supervision, what's he getting out of this? The Iron Man can't be cheap, and he's just loaning it out? I wouldn't think someone like Stark needs a bigger income and putting his strongest weapon and personal bodyguard into a hired gun seems awfully risky."

"I'm sure there's more at play," Triers added. "With the Magician and the Iron Man on our side of the playing field, I'm thinking that the Director's been cooking the books a little. There was a plan like this, back in the day, to unite a bunch of super-soldiers. Of course, after Captain America there were never any real ones to unite. Maybe things have changed?"

"Perhaps," Coulson said, frowning. "By the way, you're calling Harry the Magician now? Isn't that a bit corny?"

"Harry sounds so... common," Triers replied. "I figured if the new name caught on, at least we can get away with finally renaming all those awfully silly-sounding reports. 'Harry report' just sounds ridiculous."

"As opposed to Magician's Report?"

"No, we could get creative," Triers argued. "Grimoire, maybe? Spellbook? How about the Book of Shadows?"

Coulson sighed and was about to respond when the computer suddenly let out a loud beep. They both looked over at the screen where a fourth dot had joined the three existing ones that represented the three Gamma Bombs. The new dot was smaller and mobile, and far too recognizable.

"We've got another one," Triers said, frowning. "This one looks exactly like the signature of the machine that was taken by the army. Did A.I.M. take it back and reactivate it? Did they build another one of those monsters?"

Coulson frowned, glancing worriedly at the blinking dots, before he turned away. "I'm calling the Director."

* * *

Harry stared down at his pouch for a long moment, his wild thoughts screeching to a halt as he slowly reached in. There was one thing that he hadn't considered, had tried not to think about. It was embedded in the brooch that kept his invisibility cloak together; he pulled out the shimmering cloth, the small black stone with the symbol of the Death Hallows standing out clearly against the red and gold of the jewellery. He glanced up. "There is... a possibility." He glanced back at the Resurrection Stone. "Don't tell anyone about this. Not a soul." He glanced at Sif briefly and she nodded sharply. "I mean it.  _Nobody._ "

"You can  _bring back the dead_?" Bruce asked, half-whispering.

"Not really," Harry retorted at last. "True resurrection isn't possible. It's not how things work. There's another kind, though, a more temporary variant. For a brief time those who have departed can exist here, like an echo. They'd be a shade, with no more substance than a cloud..."

Bruce's eyes were wide, and even Sif looked on with astonishment. "Incredible..."

Harry sighed. Really, he should have gone with his original plan. This was something he hadn't thought of, and he wasn't sure if it was a good idea at all. The only people he'd ever summoned with the Stone had been people he knew personally, people who were happy to see him. Sirius, his parents, Remus, Ginny, Dumbledore. He'd never tried to summon someone he disliked, or a stranger. He'd never even summoned anyone from this world.

Staring at the Stone, though, he knew it would work. The other Hallows had worked flawlessly, and this one would not likely be an exception. If he wanted to, if he really tried to, he could bring Brian Banner here. The problem was... did he want to? The man had been murderous, half-insane. There was no telling what the man would be like in death, and Bruce's mental state was precarious enough right now without risking damaging it further. Though... if he'd gotten the character of the man right, then all this would do is work like his original plan, without being the target of Bruce's anger. Perhaps it could work.

"Can you do it now? Can you bring back this... shade?" Bruce asked sharply, and Harry looked up with eyes that looked decades older than they were. "Can you let me speak to him?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, I can. You must remember that he would be no more than a shade. When this is over, he'll still be dead. It might... it might be a good idea not to do this."

Bruce nodded, narrowing his eyes. "It's my choice, though." He paused. "If you're right about him, about what happened back then, I have to know."

"Are you absolutely certain?"

Bruce nodded quickly. "I can't lose an opportunity like this."

"I understand," Harry said at last, glancing towards Sif. "We will not interfere. Do... whatever you have to do." He glanced down at the Stone once more. Very slowly he turned it, once. Twice. Three times. He shivered as he felt power flow through the item, like an electrical surge.

The silence was absolute as Harry slowly looked up. Before him stood two people, staring at each other. Bruce's knuckles were white as he tried not to react to the sudden appearance. Brian Banner faced him with balled fists, though he seemed at ease. For a moment, Harry thought they were all back in the memory, just before the first punch flew. He stepped back from them towards the exit of the cave, where Sif stood, staring in awe.

"...Father."

"Bruce." The man's voice sounded reedy. Harry realized after a moment that he'd never heard him when he wasn't spitting his words in anger, and that was the reason. Brian Banner glanced over Harry and Sif, and then ignored them in favour of his son.

Bruce was the first to break the silence. He swallowed thickly. "Why did you do it?"

There was a long, drawn-out silence once more. Harry fidgeted uncomfortably. He was certain that existing like this couldn't be pleasant. Was Bruce's father so far gone that he wouldn't even talk?

"Dad? Talk to me."

"I have nothing to say," Brian said at last. "I said everything I wanted to in life."

"You had many things to say, that is true," Bruce agreed, staring at the shade with undisguised loathing. "There is something you never talked to me about, though. You didn't have the chance. You tried to kill me. In that graveyard, you tried to end my life. You came there with that end in mind, didn't you?"

"I failed," Brian said after a little while longer, looking distractedly at Harry with a hint of fear in his eyes. "I failed to do what I should have done. I tried to end it, there. Tried to end my curse, but I failed. I would have killed myself after you were gone, but the curse caught up to me. Even after all that."

"What is this curse?" Bruce asked hoarsely. "What was so horrible that you couldn't bear to see it? I thought you were insane, but you weren't, were you? Deluded, perhaps, but you knew what you were doing."

"Was I insane? No." The shade turned away from his son. "Before your mother and I ever met, I wasn't like you remember me. I wasn't how I am now, even. I never told you this in life, since I no longer wished to remember that time myself. Now, I suppose, it doesn't matter." He shook his head. "At one time, I worked as a geneticist. I was a scientist... like you. There was an accident."

Bruce stared. "What? Another accident?"

"I was tainted," Brian said finally. "Something got into me, then. I was never someone to easily anger, but whatever happened there changed it. I could get so angry, so enraged, that I couldn't stop it. The doctors had many names for it, but I knew what it was. The experiment had made me into a  _monster_. My intelligence had led me to the destruction of my life, and I abandoned it." He sighed, running a hand through his ethereal hair. "Your mother was something new. I vowed never to have children. You weren't intended, but I couldn't bear to end it then. Your mother protected you, as well. I knew, I was certain, that the horrors of my experiment were in your blood. You were just like me, far too intelligent for your age. Far too prone to fits of rage. I punished you, forced you to control yourself from very early on. The relationship with your mother got difficult."

"You beat her to death," Bruce said heatedly. "You  _killed_ her!"

"Yes." Brian sighed. "I did. I couldn't control it, and it killed me."

"You are making excuses for your awful behaviour," Bruce said, scowling. "You tried to beat the anger out of me, you claim. Every child is angry, sometimes. I remember all those times that I was mad about the fact that you took away my things, or locked away my books, or screamed at me about trivial things. I was no angrier than any kid would be. You tried to  _beat_ the anger out of me, and instead you just..." He glanced at Harry. "You made me bottle it up. You turned me into the very thing that you hated." Bruce tried to grasp his father by the shoulders, but his hands passed right through him. "Don't you realize?  _You_   _did this by your own actions!_ "

"I..." Brian grimaced. "I tried to do what was right."

"But you didn't!"" Bruce snapped. "You haven't denied that you tried to kill me, I notice. What kind of father are you? You were the one that forced the problems on me that I'm dealing with right now, the very rage that you fought against yourself. Then you tried to end it when your crazy ideas became too much for you, and the only way you could think of was  _murder._ You disgust me!"

"Bruce! I thought that it would be a good thing!" Brian looked away. "The pain caused by that curse, I did not want that for you. Perhaps it would be better- "

"You ruined my life," Bruce said, cutting him off. "I'm not sorry that you're dead. You did that to yourself."

Brian paused for a long time. Then, he nodded. "You weren't responsible for that. You were only doing what you thought was right, too. For whatever part you played in my death..." He sighed. "I forgive you." He glanced at Harry then, his eyes haunted. "She will know, now. She..." he swallowed. "If she comes for you,  _he_ will follow."

"What...?" Harry tried to ask, but the man was gone in an instant. Bruce was left staring at the empty ground, where his father had been. Finally he turned to Harry, tears in his eyes. "That was..."

Harry frowned, trying to figure out what those last words had meant, but set them aside. There were more important things to deal with, now. He gestured at Bruce. "Come on. I'll get you back home. Things are going bad, we're needed. Besides, they'll want to hear about what we've accomplished out here."

"Which is nothing," Bruce said with difficulty. "You... you were right. You were... right about him," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Yet all of it was for  _nothing._ "

"I think we accomplished a lot, actually," Harry said after a while, snatching a sock from his pouch and enchanting it. "Remarkably much, really."

"We didn't do anything that we set out to do," Bruce amended. "The other guy..." He trailed off, glancing at Sif, then Harry.

"With all the turmoil you probably didn't notice," Harry said, smiling sadly. "I suppose I can understand, it's not every day that you get this memory thing dumped on you, not to mention …just now. I'm sure you're still a bit out of it."

"What are you getting at?"

"You've been lashing out at people for the last half hour," Harry explained. "You cursed your father's actions, he drove you to yell and snap at him. You're stressed and angry and emotionally compromised; you've been through the wringer more than you've been in years, I suspect. Certainly there's more stress here than a mere shot to the back with a tranquilizer dart."

Bruce stared without incomprehension for a few moments, and then his eyes widened as looked down at his perfectly normal human hands. "I'm still me!"

Harry smiled slightly. "You've never stopped being you."


	21. Grim

The splash was magnificent. Bruce was the first to break the surface, turning to Harry in shock. "This, again?You complete  _buffoon!"_

Harry sighed as he shook his head, wiping his hair out of his eyes as he slowly paddled towards the shore. "Yes, blame me, not the one who knocked us off course!" He slogged onto land tiredly, glad that both his wand and pouch had safely made it through the ordeal. The same could not be said for his clothes, though, as he plucked a particularly odious-smelling water plant from his shoulder. "That's the last time I get that close to Sif while using a Portkey." He rubbed his stomach gingerly; that's where her elbow had caught him. "Ow."

Bruce spit out a mouthful of salt water as he too got onto shore, holding the now utterly drenched bathrobe that Harry had given him tightly around himself. He shivered violently as he looked back out over the water. "Wait, where is she, anyway?"

"I am here," Sif replied, and Harry blinked in surprise when he realized that she sat directly behind him, dangling her legs from a ridge, six feet up the cliff wall. She was also perfectly dry.

"So the one who sent us into the drink in the first place is the one who got out untouched?" Harry sighed at Sif's wicked smirk. "That was revenge for the flying, I take it?"

"The transportation method you use is not that different from travelling via the Bifrost." She jumped down from her perch in one quick movement, landing lightly on her feet. "I thought this was… fitting."

Harry muttered something uncomplimentary, but the fact that Bruce was smiling ruefully stopped him from saying too much. Right about now a little levity might be exactly what the doctor ordered. "I think we need to dry up before we meet the others. Tony will lynch us if we enter like wet dogs, especially since it's not the first time _."_ He glared at Sif. "Let me guess, he told you about the pond incident?"

"It was quite amusing," Sif answered, smiling.

"Figured. Hold on, I'll take care of this." Harry swished his wand quickly, tapping himself on the head and doing the same to Bruce. The latter cried in surprise when his bathrobe began shaking itself dry by its own volition, and he was only barely capable of even keeping it on him while it did so. Harry shivered as his own clothes rippled with billows of steam as the water escaped into the air. He went from wet to the bone to uncomfortably warm in moments, and shivered at the sudden change. "Well, that ought to do it."

"Harry! Stop it!" Bruce exclaimed. Done with drying itself, the bathrobe was trying to rip itself free from its wearer to get to the sea. Doubtlessly it was going to try and dry that up too, if he didn't do anything about it. Harry just stared at the spectacle for a few moments before he had mercy on Bruce and ended the enchantment. The man glared, though it wasn't terribly malevolent. " _Thank_  you. Never do it again, either!"

Harry smiled cheerily and was about to answer when a loud cough interrupted them.

"When you're done with your little pool party, you can join the adults," Tony's amplified voice said from above, and Harry figured it was some sort of loudspeaker. "By the way, Harry, I'd much rather you pulled that clothing trick with your other companion than with – Ow, Pepper! What was that for?"

* * *

Wandering into his room, Harry had trouble keeping the fatigue from showing. With everyone present there would be a meeting regarding A.I.M. soon enough, but he'd gotten permission to go put on some new clothes and he was going to use that to recharge. He could knock back a potion while he was here, hopefully counteracting the effects of an awful night's rest, and maybe do something about the fact that he looked terrible. He dropped down on the bed with a deep sigh.

Despite all the things that had gone wrong, he'd done it. Harry couldn't hold in a little smile. He'd gone out into the wilderness with the intent of helping Bruce, and things happened differently than he'd expected, that much was for sure. He certainly hadn't expected the memory, or the fact that Bruce's home life was considerably worse than his own had ever been. He could complain a lot about the Dursleys, but they'd never been vicious enough to attempt to kill him. The planned week of introspection and meditation, ideal tools for anger-management, hadn't really gotten off the ground. Applying the few practical aspects of proper Occlumency training had seemed like a good idea, but he supposed he'd done the equivalent of what Snape had done, if unintentionally. He'd dredged up the worst of the worst.

Harry could only come to one conclusion after his meeting with Bruce and the appearance of Brian's shade. Bruce's anger, his fury, had been locked away out of  _fear_. The original reason must have been fear of his father, who would certainly have punished him for showing rage. He'd suppressed his anger somehow. Despite the incarceration of Brian in later years the damage was done, and Bruce had rejected that angry part of himself totally. On the rare occasion that it broke out he'd barely remember it, if at all, and just go on with his life. He'd already seen what triggered it, in the graveyard. Then the experiment happened, the accident, and it amplified what had been there already into something remarkable. Harry had no idea if it was that part of Bruce that saved him, or if somehow it had been the only one truly affected. The Hulk, after that, had become the new fear. Instead of just fearing his father, he now feared himself. That, consciously or not, was what unleashed his monstrous half.

Perhaps for the first time since the experiment, Bruce hadn't cared about the consequences at all. He'd been so emotionally distraught that he hadn't even thought to fear what might come of his anger, he'd just done it. He'd yelled and screamed. For once, he'd used those emotions like a normal person would, rather than shut them away, or be terrified of what they might lead to. The Hulk had remained dormant. Harry had no doubt that if Bruce had wanted to, he could have called on that intense power he'd gotten in the experiment; the Hulk wasn't gone. But – perhaps – Bruce had found a way to begin to control it. If he could learn not to fear that power, it might just stop being something he needed to fear.

Bruce learned something awful, knew at last what exactly happened in that graveyard. He'd closed a part of his past that he hadn't known was still an open wound. At the same time, perhaps, he'd give himself a new road into the future.

"All that without even an ounce of Liquid Luck," Harry said, smiling wryly. Sometimes he wished he had Felix Felicis for the tough moments. He supposed he'd have to make his own luck. He sank tiredly into the pillow, wondering what the next few days would be like – going back to the kind of fighting that he'd left behind years ago, outside those few occasions where it'd been necessary. He could be forced to use some of his nastier spells, if things came down to that. He'd do so, he was uncomfortably good at those spells after all, but he didn't know what he'd make of himself afterwards. He'd had a good reason to distance himself from that work in the first place, after all. Sighing deeply, his eyes fluttered shut.

* * *

There was a horrible tearing sound. The entire world shuddered under his feet. Vicious greens bled into silver, and strangely chilly air rolled over him, suffused with the stench of rotting flesh. Harry shuddered as he opened his eyes. For a few moments he had no idea what he was looking at. White rocks jutted far into the sky in twisted formations, taking on physically impossible forms that practically screamed that they were magical. Colours were oddly sharp and the spectrum of light was reflected in many shiny surfaces around him, like little rainbows everywhere you looked. High above him shone distant stars, though they intermingled and danced like real ones never would. Among them moved vast dark shapes, like fish just below the surface of a pond, and Harry averted his eyes without quite knowing why.

"Bloody hell," Harry exclaimed as he looked at his hand that was holding his wand. It was a dull and sickly-looking grey. His skin was pallid, bloodless, and even as he stretched he could clearly feel the bones move like he normally never did. If anything, it reminded Harry of Voldemort's hands, spindly and skeletal. Harry tried not to think about it as he stared into the distance. Majestic mountains, kilometres high, stretched towards the horizon. Rocky spires jutted out occasionally, and small streams of water cascaded down the sides, disappearing into deep valleys. Just looking at them gave Harry the chills. It was as if the water should've been ice, but inexplicably wasn't.

"Where… am I?" Harry said confusedly, raising his wand. The vast landscape was utterly bizarre – alien, even. For a moment he had the irrational urge to go down there to the plains in the distance. Then the urge passed, and he felt sick to his stomach. "What is this? Am I dreaming?"

"After a fashion."

Harry started and turned around with a spell ready on his lips. He faltered as he realized what was behind him, and gaped. He stood at the mouth of a gigantic cave entrance carved into the side of one of the impossibly tall mountains. Inside the darkness of the tunnel was something massive, gigantic, which breathed very slowly. It had to be a hundred feet tall or more, though the only things Harry could see were its gigantic gleaming teeth and the glittering metal of a massive chain. For a moment Harry tried to figure out what it could be. A dragon? A Cerberus, like Fluffy? Whatever it was, it was bigger than any of them.

"The wolf will not harm us," the voice said. It sounded female, though it had an odd grinding, cracking quality to it, as if stones were rubbed together while she was speaking. It was simultaneously frightening and oddly soothing, and Harry shivered involuntarily. It took him a moment to realize that the one who spoke was a figure that stood quite near to him in the shadows, cloaked all in black. "The creature is a guardian of this passage. Only those who travel through need fear its bite."

Harry swallowed thickly, clasping his wand tighter in his hand, ready to fire off a barrage of spells, even if this was just a dream. It felt far too chilling and real to be such. "Is it you again? The one who invaded my mind? I don't care much for this kind of nonsense, you know. Having one voice in my head is quite enough!"

The woman chuckled softly. She looked at him with a look that he could only describe as condescension, or perhaps pity. Right about now Harry really could've used Dumbledore's ever-present eloquence, he thought. The woman looked up at the starry sky, smiling wryly. "I care not for such things."

"You're not, I take it?" Harry concluded, sighing. "What is with my mind and everyone just tumbling in?" He shook his head in annoyance. "I really need to get back to practicing Occlumency…"

"Harry James Potter," the woman said suddenly, stepping out of the shadows. She raised her head and her face became visible. Like Harry's own in this place her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her lips coloured pale blue, like that of a corpse. Her eyes were milky white and Harry briefly thought she was blind – then those pale pupils focused on him. She frowned, then. "You have been doing what you ought not to."

"Really?" Harry slowly backed away as the woman came nearer, suddenly convinced that he shouldn't come too close, though he didn't know where the conviction came from. He felt the ice under his feet crunch and crack, as if he could slip through it into an endless sea at any moment. He stopped, glancing at his feet nervously, but things seemed solid enough. He smiled nervously. "I'm pretty sure I didn't break too many rules. Well, not important ones. I'm sure it was entirely accidental, whatever I did."

"You possess something that I desire," the woman said, narrowing her eyes. "Something that belongs to me, in the end." She shook her head slowly. "To do what you did, few have dared. To move around the workings of reality, to reach directly into that which should not be touched, that is not something that a mortal can be allowed to do."

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Harry said, but he thought back to that moment in the mountains, when Brian Banner had turned to him. The words the man had said at the end returned to him, and he shivered. 'She will know, now. If she comes for you, hewill follow.' The woman smiled tightly, nodding as if in response to his thought. Was this the person Brian had meant? What could a shade know about…

"I see that you have grasped it, now," She whispered. "To reach into that which is mine is to leave a part of oneself behind. You dared to cross that divide unflinchingly. The only reason that I did not rip you apart right then was your motive." She shook her head, turning away. "I expected selfishness, like most who tried in the past."

"You're…" Harry's eyes widened in terror as he glanced at the Elder Wand clasped in his fingers. "No, that's not possible, is it?"

"Yes. I am Death. I am the inevitable." The woman's face vanished for an instant, and there was nothing but cold bone under that hood, only a dead stare. Harry thought he should've felt revolted, but it actually seemed to be  _less_ so than before. The other face was like a doll's, a cheap mask.

His survival instincts kicked in, and Harry almost panicked as he scrambled back. "You're kidding me! I'm  _dead?"_

"After a fashion," Death answered once more, shaking her head. The pale, human face was back, and her expression was, if anything, compassionate. "Your body still breathes in the world of the living, though your soul has found its way here, to Hel. I came to give you… an offer."

_Hell_? Harry shivered, looking around. He hadn't expected Hell to be like this, with huge mountains of ice and cold rivers. He'd expected fire and brimstone, like Uncle Vernon had once gleefully described the afterlife for people like him. This place gave him the creeps, and he couldn't help think of what it would mean if he had to stay here. He hadn't seen any people yet – would he be alone in a vast landscape that was completely empty? Perhaps it would indeed be a hell. He almost missed the second half of what the woman had said. He'd heard of a personified idea before, though he'd never given the idea credence. Death as a being, rather than an abstract concept, was a common theme in fairy tales, especially Wizarding ones. There was one tale in particular, though, that came immediately to mind.

"You want to barter something? Like you did with the Peverell brothers?" Harry asked at last. A deep chill ran within him for a moment, like the wind around him had passed right through. He stared at his pale, bony fingers that were still holding the wand. The object seemed to pulsate, as if sensing that it was close to its master. After a moment he frowned. That wasn't right. They belonged to him, now. He carried that title, the Master of Death.

"You have won Antioch's prize, the Wand," Death observed. "You have inherited the Cloak from Ignotus himself. Finally, you have been gifted the Stone, passed down from hand to hand since Cadmus." She paused for a long time. "You may keep those trinkets. Perhaps you are the one to find what their true purpose is." She frowned, then. "Your reckless use of one, though, put your soul on the brink of destruction. That is something even I will not condone. Death comes to all; it is not to be circumvented."

"I… thought I was using it right," Harry said hesitantly. He thought back to the previous times he'd summoned shades. What had he done wrong this time? Why was Brian Banner different? Was it because it was someone from this world, instead of his own? But then how did this figure know about the Peverell brothers?

"Death is universal," the figure said, as if in answer to his question. Harry wondered if she was reading his mind, since everyone else seemed to be doing that. She turned her pale eyes towards him. "What you have done is counter to the way things work. To take those who have died and return them to the living, however briefly, is a great power that can be abused very easily. In your existence, the one you fled from, there are no greater beings that would interfere. There are few higher forces that would take notice." She shook her head sadly. "Be glad that I do not easily take lives before their time, or you would have been purged the instant I knew what you carried. The risk is too great."

Harry gulped. "…What do you mean?"

"Existence has many great enemies," Death answered. "They would destroy all in their path. One of their only limitations, the only reason that they do not dominate, is the dominion of death." She glanced at Harry's wand warily. "To defeat death, to even have the potential to be its master, is a great danger to all. If these beings knew, your world would be trampled and scorched within an instant. The stars would die and the very core of your world would rise up to destroy you."

"I can't use it again, then." Harry said. He thought he should've been agitated, fearful even, but he couldn't summon the strength for any of that. He couldn't even feel his own heartbeat anymore. He meant to reach into his pouch, but the Resurrection Stone was already in his hand, as if moved there by thought alone. He stretched out his arm to Death. "Take it back, then, if it's that dangerous."

"You would give it back freely?" Death seemed amused by that, and turned aside. "I have already rejected the offer before, wizard. Your ancestor, Ignotus Peverell, offered to return my cloak, when he and I met for the final time. I allowed him to keep it then, and I will not change my decision now." She glanced at the Resurrection Stone again, shaking her head. "The Stone itself passes across what you might call the veil, to pull a single soul back from beyond. There is only one way in which such an anomaly can be hidden, one way in which reality can be kept in balance, and the Celestials kept at bay." She looked decidedly grim. "The answer is a life for a life, Harry Potter. For every soul you return, however briefly, I take another."

Harry's eyes widened in horror, and though he tried to protest, he couldn't manage it. His body felt heavy, like he was lugging around twice his weight, and he had trouble keeping his balance. His teeth chattered and he wondered if it was this place – this Hell – that was doing this to him. Was he freezing to death? While dead? "You'll kill random people just to make ends meet?"

"You have already summoned one soul," Death noted dispassionately. "You returned the soul of Brian Banner to a semblance of life, drew him back across. In that instant I took another life from another time and place to fill this role."

"NO!" Harry yelled, and he forced himself to step closer to the figure, shaking off the icy fatigue that was creeping up on him. "I won't let you kill people over something I didn't know! How could I know that you were here, changing the rules? If you have to kill  _someone_ … " He shook his head. "Please?"

Death looked decidedly unimpressed, even when Harry grabbed her by her robe. "I come to all in time, Harry Potter. I alone can say whether a life that is taken might be good or bad, for I am the only one who sees such possible paths. Tell me, wizard, would you fight so strongly if you knew that a hundred lives were spared by this single death?"

Harry hesitated. "Is that true?"

"What if that single death allowed for thousands of others to survive? What if, by preserving one life, many thousands might die in its wake?" Death shook her head slowly. "The consequences are mine to see, and the decision is mine to make. A life for a life, that is how it will be."

"Why would  _Death_  only kill those who are murderers?" Harry asked, and he thought that Death's expression looked downright disappointed for a moment, as if he'd completely misunderstood something. "I don't want to be responsible for something like that!"

"I do not desire death, as you seem to believe," Death answered, smirking at Harry's surprise. "Why would I desire something that is already my essence?" She waved her hand in the air and for a moment Harry saw an older, balding man with a content smile appear as if from smoke. His chest was covered in blood, though, and Harry knew who that had to be. It was the person he'd – he'd killed, helping Bruce. The image faded into nothingness again. "Perhaps, in time, you will understand."

"Who... was he?"

"A life for a life," Death said again, ignoring his question. She faded away very slowly, vanishing into the shadows. "We will meet again. All will meet me, in time." She turned, shaking her head. "It is unwise to attract my attention too often, as many have learnt already. My patience is not as eternal as my existence."

Harry tried to answer, but the world washed away, and he felt himself floating in one of the cold streams that flooded the valley, or maybe in all of them. He felt almost comfortable. He gazed up at the dancing stars and the vast mountains and wondered if this is what death was like. He hadn't seen a train this time, would he miss the Express? Well, he could float here for a while, he supposed. He didn't mind it so much, really.

Darkness overtook him, and he felt no more.

* * *

"So, how does one wake a wizard? Do you suppose he'd turn us into mice if we poked him with something pointy?"

" _I do not know, but I would not recommend trying it."_

Harry's thoughts wandered fuzzily to and fro, wondering who was speaking. The name 'Tony' occurred to him, but he'd forgotten why he was looking for a name.

"At least he's got brain activity again – I assume that's a good sign. Of course, there's a pretty good chance that he'll be tasting colours and muttering about purple dragons when he wakes up…" The voice paused for a moment. "In so far as he wasn't already."

" _Synesthesia nor hallucinations are commonly reported among those formerly brain-dead, sir. For obvious reasons, I should think. Brain-death is generally considered the very definition of death."_

"Hmmm, that's what you get when you're dealing with the impossible." He sighed. "You know, this guy's making me wonder about all sorts of philosophical things that I'd thought were pretty solidly solved already. If he's going to drag me into a debate about astral projection and the afterlife next, I'll probably start tearing out my hair."

That voice was familiar. Harry tried to open his eyes, struggling to wakefulness. He felt terrible, like he was covered with ten layers of blankets and swimming up through them to get to fresh air.

"Hold on, let me try the adrenaline thing again. Something tells me this guy will bounce right back from the stuff."

" _You already gave him two doses, sir. Any more and he may display wild and erratic behaviour upon wakefulness. Or suffer cardiac arrest."_

"Eh, been there, done that. Going for it."

The moment a small needle buried itself into his hand, Harry thrashed out of his bed with such suddenness and speed that Tony practically jumped a hole in the air, his arms stretched out defensively before him. Whether that was to protect his face or to blast it with repulsors Harry wasn't sure, and he was sort of glad Tony wasn't wearing the suit right that moment. Glass and something large and metal crashed to the ground as Harry shook his head. The needle dropped to the ground and Harry rubbed the spot where he'd been pricked. Voices and faces once again became a cohesive whole. The wizard blinked blearily as he realized he was back in his room, back in what had become his home of late. He sighed in relief, glancing back at the bed. He had dozed off, then.

"What in the name of the All-Father was all that noise?" Sif complained as she entered his room, and Harry blinked in consternation when he noticed that she was wearing a suit – a well-fitting suit that accentuated certain parts. Well, Tony's probably had a hand in designing it, that was for sure. Her hair hung around her head loosely and Harry shook his head.

"Why do you look… like that?" Harry asked, shaking his head as he tried to slow his thundering heart-beat.

"If that's the first thing he asks, I think he's okay," Tony said, smirking. He raised an eyebrow as he waved a hand in front of Harry's face. "You can still recognize people, and you probably weren't using the rest of your brain anyway. How do you feel?"

"What?" Harry turned and felt something on his head. He reached up removing something odd and bumpy from his head full of little electrodes and blinking lights. He'd ripped most of the connections into pieces when he'd shot up. "Ah, I think I destroyed your thingy." He tried to smile sheepishly, but it just came across as a grimace.

"That  _thingy_  was an expensive electroencephalograph to test for neural activity," Tony muttered, picking up what remained of it and dropping it again. "I use something similar in my helmet, actually. I don't know if you've been paying any attention while on your little jaunts into the ether, but you've been effectively comatose since you got back, and it's been a spot of trouble to keep the people downstairs from finding out. I thought you might've actually gone brain-dead for a minute there. Xena here remembered your unresponsive state when you were out there in the desert, and I thought I should wait it out. Figured it was a Gandalf-style sleeping with your eyes open thing. So, yeah, how  _are_ you doing?"

Harry untangled the last bits of the EEG machine from his hair, dropping them on the bed. "I … " He glanced down at his hand, relieved to find that they were healthy and pinkish, and his bones were no longer grinding against each other like he'd lost all his muscles. "I think I'm okay. I was… somewhere else, there."

He'd been unresponsive and effectively brain-dead, exactly the kind of traits that one expects in the victim of a Dementor. Death, the being that personified it, had said that it was his soul that was in that other place, that hell. It had really happened, then? He had seen what only the Peverells had, struck another deal with the very entity that they had met? His mind flashed back to the face she'd shown him, the older man that had died because of his action, because he had summoned Brian Banner's shade. His use of the Hallow had led to that, and from what he'd heard, he should be glad that only one person lost their life because of it. He couldn't tell that part to anyone, and certainly not to Bruce. He couldn't lay that guilt on a man who was only barely dealing with the guilt of another death. No, he'd have to bear this himself. Perhaps he could find out who he'd been, and do something for their family.

He was supposed to be the Master of Death, but here he was, unable to stop it. How could he claim a title like that when even using one of the Peverell items would cost the lives of those around him? If they could attract beings the likes of which even Death seemed wary about? The same being, perhaps, that Sif had already warned him about. Were they coming because he was a wizard, as the Asgardians seemed to believe, or because he was a very specific wizard? What exactly did the Deathly Hallows do that made them such a danger? Should he keep them, knowing that he might be luring the enemy to his doorstep?

Tony tapped him on the shoulder impatiently. "Still here, Wiz? Good. Now, get up, and put on something decent. There's about half a dozen people downstairs that are wondering if you crapped out on us five minutes before the mission, and at least two of them don't like you much anyway. I'd suggest getting on with it." He raised an eyebrow. "You will be there, right?"

"I will be right behind you. Wouldn't want to steal your thunder," Harry said tiredly, grasping a bottle of Invigoration Draught from his pouch. If what he'd just experienced had been real, then A.I.M. was a little ripple in the pond compared to the kind of things that were lurking out there. Would this little rag-tag collection of people be enough to stop something like that? Would all the wizards of his old world have been enough? He had no clue. He'd have to take it one step at a time. Hopefully they would all be ready before that became an issue. Hopefully  _he_ would be ready. He turned to Tony and raised his bottle. "I need a little pick-me-up first."

"I know that feeling," Tony responded, smiling thinly. "Don't be too surprised about all the people downstairs. Things are getting a little crowded, even in my spacious abode. After this is over I'm dragging you to the construction site in the Big Apple and putting you to work on that, since the tower needs to be finished soon, if we keep getting more people pitching in. I was thinking about putting 'Stark' on the sides. Do you suppose that'd fit?"

"Well, at least it'd match your ego." Harry swallowed a full dose of his Draught and for a moment his eyes bulged and he shivered all over. Strength returned to his muscles and Harry smiled happily as he bounced a few times on the balls of his feet. World-changing depressing thoughts could wait for later as they receded from him in the rush of energy. Right now he could bask in the feeling of accomplishment of getting Bruce back here, of actually managing to keep things together. When this threat was done for, Harry could start worrying about the next one.

His mind wandered momentarily back to the desert, to the man who'd taken the form of Voldemort. The being that he'd met, Death, had seemed amused about that. What did that mean? Did she think it was a joke? Did she think that whoever was involved was beneath her? Was it even proper to speak of a 'her'? He shivered despite himself.

"Ready to blow stuff up for peace?" Tony asked as he turned. "I know that I am..."

Harry smiled thinly, putting the tough questions aside. "Go. I'll follow."

* * *

"I'm supposed to work together with  _you?"_ Barton said, narrowing his eyes. "I don't know if you recall, but the last time that we met, you almost tore me limb from limb."

"I was quite agitated at the time," Bruce said neutrally. Though he looked perfectly calm, on the inside he could barely keep himself from snapping off an insult. The anger was too close to the surface, closer than it had been in a long time. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the Agent. "I also recall that one of your team shot me first. In the back."

Barton glanced at Natasha, who looked on with a bored expression, twirling a lock of red hair around her finger. She rolled her eyes at the two. "I think that we could all use a little chill pill, don't you think? Regardless of our past differences, this is a joint operation. You guys can get back to pestering each other later."

"You people have been following me for years," Bruce muttered sullenly. "You'd figure that if anyone had right to complain, it wouldn't be the likes of you. Before that day in the Brazilian forest you'd never even seen me, had you? You just knew the monster by reputation. It's still like that, really." He raised his stainless steel cup to his mouth staring at it momentarily. He squeezed. The cup fell to the ground, twisted, the metal bent through sheer physical strength. "Nobody seems to even consider that he's not the whole equation."

"That's quite enough of this bickering!" Director Nick Fury said, slapping his bare hand on the table. He glared at Barton. "Doctor Banner is here by my request, and he  _will_ be treated the same as everyone else. Remember, he is the nation's top-most expert in gamma-research, and that is  _exactly_  what we need right now. We must get started on setting up our game-plan, since the clock is ticking. Doctor?"

Bruce nodded, frowning. "I suppose I can get started now, then. The others will catch up." He nodded to Natasha and a slide popped up on the wall monitor. "I didn't have a lot of time, so you'll have to bear with a lot of equations and boring black and white pictures. He tried to smile, though it faltered quickly. "Well… the data that S.H.I.E.L.D. handed over indicates that we are dealing with three Gamma devices with a yield of at least twenty megatons each. The estimates range all the way up to fifty megatons, the level of the largest nuclear weapon ever detonated, above which a long-distance device becomes impractically cumbersome."

"For those of us who aren't physics majors, an analogy would be appreciated," Fury said blandly. "The Hiroshima bombing was how strong? Remind me."

"Sixteen kilotons," Bruce said simply, and he didn't miss how Barton straightened up and grimaced. "We're dealing with things that could literally be a thousands of times stronger than those bombs, large enough to permanently wipe a major city off the map." He gestured for the next slide. "The greatest risk is not the initial blast, though. As with any nuclear strike, radioactive fallout is a major issue. The effects of a successful hit would cover a substantial area of the country – up to a quarter – and make life effectively impossible within a range of at least a hundred kilometres or more, and with extreme risks of cancer or worse in the surrounding areas."

"These are country-killers," Fury summarized. "If they hit with even one, America's crippled. If they all hit there will be no United States anymore, since everything would be diverted towards damage control. A.I.M. is attempting to make the world a hostage. With Gamma bombs aimed at every major city on Earth, they'd effectively control their opposition."

"They're aiming at America because it's the military powerhouse of the world," Tony observed as he stepped into the room, straightening his tie. "Whether or not it's technologically deserving of that distinction, it's certainly the nation with the most hardware in use. If they can cripple us, they control the international arms market."

"The problem is, wherever these things land would be bad," Bruce added, shaking his head. "Whether it's San Fransisco or some obscure village in Chile, we'd end up with a major disaster that far eclipses anything nuclear that we've yet had."He got to the next slide, which showed obvious dispersal patterns over a map of the United States. "Even if they're shot down, we'd be dealing with a significant contamination, and you already know that unprotected humans will simply die in the vicinity of this stuff. The reasons that led to my – unique – reaction are presumably rare, but they could happen again, especially when a lot of people are exposed at once. I believe that  _one_ is quite enough."

"Can't we get a green woman, too?" Tony asked. "We could call her Orion. Star Trek conventions would go mad!" He shook his head. "None of the usual containment methods will work for these things - they're way too powerful to be stashed somewhere, and if one of them goes into its cascade while on the ground..."

"Mr. Stark," Fury said. "I was not informed that you were an expert on nuclear weapons now." He raised an eyebrow. "Doctor Banner?"

Tony shook his head dismissively. "I have been reading up on this gamma stuff for a few days now, I don't really need the newbie intro, no offense." He looked to Bruce and nodded. "I read your papers, by the way. Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. Actually, I think we might be looking at something similar to that, possibly involving a cycled-"

"Gentlemen."

Tony turned, bemused. "Did you just interrupt me? Do you know what that can do a person's mental flow? Why, I could lose half a dozen ideas in the split second it takes me to readapt to the new verbal situa-"

"Mr. Stark," Fury barked. "Do you think this is a  _game?"_

"I figured it was Missile Command," Tony quipped. "By the way, good job. I had the most amazing idea on how to achieve world peace, and you had to interrupt things with my name. That's one of the worst ways to break my flow, you know, since I always think someone's going to praise me for something I did, and I pay extra attention." He blinked, turning back to the slide on the screen which currently showed a damning picture of America mostly covered in concentric red, orange and yellow circles. "Well, that's looking cheerful."

"As I was saying," Bruce tried, frowning. "These three missiles, as they are now, can contaminate a far greater region with nuclear fallout than we can prepare for, and contaminated water could be just as dangerous."

"I proposed that we move the objects in question to high orbit by completely overpowering their normal propulsive power," Tony put in. "The Iron Man armour can potentially get one to the stratosphere, but no further. We're talking robotic, Jarvis-guided engines attached to their sides. That is, if the missiles are launched at all."

"We are not going to let that happen," Fury stated simply. "I requested the services of Agents Romanoff and Barton for several reasons. Firstly, you require someone on the inside to find out where the explosives are kept, and how much protection we can count on. We also need someone to sabotage the launch connections to prevent the ICBM's from getting off the ground. Finally, considering the eclectic nature of your little cabal, I asked for those with previous interaction."

"It's nice to see you two," Harry said as he entered. His eyes looked a little sunken but he dropped into a chair with a slight bounce nevertheless, betraying no fatigue. "Natasha, Clint – can I call you that, now that I'm no longer counter-stalking you? I figured I'd see you again, but not this quickly."

"Harry," Natasha said, glancing behind him to the doorway. "Are you going to introduce us?"

"Why has a  _locked door_  suddenly become a revolving one?" Fury muttered, glaring at Tony without much venom. "Who is this?"

"Sif of Asgard," Sif said, taking a place next to Harry. "I am here to protect the Seidmadr. Pleased to meet you all."

Harry shook his head. "The details aren't relevant for now. Suffice to say that if I'm going, she'll tag along."

Fury stared at the new arrival suspiciously, the at Harry. "If there were any time to spare, I would question your tendency to aggregate unknowns around yourself. I take it that she, too, is... of interest to us?"

"Ah, it can wait," Harry said, waving it off. "She just burst in one day, no warning. Well, I suppose she nearly speared Tony to a wall, which might qualify. Count on her to do some serious demolition and hand-to-hand if half the things she says are true."

"Sword-fighter?" Clint asked, looking speculatively at Sif. "I've seen a few who specialized like that, had the same kind of movements that you do. It's pretty distinctive." He shrugged. "I'm not one for up-close and personal myself. Prefer to shoot things before they've even noticed me."

"Which is why you are not the best to send out for interrogation missions," Natasha commented. "Remember that Italian? Shot him in the leg, figured he'd be fine. Next thing you know he trips in front of a train. Biggest piece that anyone found was an ear."

Harry winced. "Right, well, enough about that. We have six people here, that should be enough to put a stop to these things, right? Especially considering what kind of people we're talking about."

"True," Tony said. "I'd considered supervising the whole thing from here, but I think I'll leave that to the capable hands of the guy who already spends his days being a paranoid maniac with more guns under his control than all of Texas." He glanced at Fury, nodding. "The new suit's ready to go, and I'm going to fly it."

"Ah," Harry snapped his fingers and almost everyone tensed at the sudden noise. "That's what I was going to do when I got back, but things got a little side-tracked. You told me you had some trouble with the – whatsits again?"

"Thermal stabilizers," Tony answered. "Keeps me from burning my ass off in there with all the electronics."

"Right," Harry agreed. "I figured I can make sure they keep cool throughout, so that's not a big deal. Should conserve some electricity, right?"

"I'm shocked! Have you actually been reading my books?"

"Some," Harry admitted sheepishly. "The big ones are still impossibly complicated, though. Whoever thought of calling things actuators and resistors and whatever else?"

"If we can keep our focus on the here and now, please. Agents Barton and Romanoff will be handling the infiltration," Fury said after a moment, drawing everyone's attention again. "That will be the first wave, and if possible they will sabotage the launch systems. The second wave must be a single, quick move for the missiles. If we allow A.I.M. even ten minutes of time after the attack's discovered they'll fire those missiles and we'll be in a whole other mess. The attack must be decisive and small in number, as any large force would quickly get slogged down while individuals can slip in and out of detection. Especially if we have a distraction."

"Me," Bruce said, frowning. He looked at the screen for a long time, staring at a crude sketch of a hide-out entrenched between two mountains, with tunnels and tall structures against the hills. He glanced at Harry, nodding slowly. "I can do that."

"Tony and I will disembowel that facility very quickly," Harry said airily, tapping his screen to enlarge the crude drawing they had of the place. "I have a little something more than what you've already seen, if it becomes absolutely necessary. Problem is, though, we'll need some way to contain the damage. What do we do about the missiles while they're still on the ground?" Harry frowned, thinking of ways he knew to destroy things utterly, to leave not even ash behind. There was really only one thing that came to mind, and it had been years since he'd even tried that on the smallest scale. There was no way that would remain a secret. "My method is not very discreet."

"How about Portkeys?" Tony waved reached into his pocket, dangling a sock in the air. Fury, Natasha and Clint looked at him like he was a complete idiot, and Harry smirked as the man quickly put it back where it came from. "If we can toss those missiles somewhere nobody will miss them, like interstellar space…"

"I can't Portkey things to space," Harry said dryly.

"Finally, limits!" Tony exclaimed.

"It's because I've never been there," Harry amended. "I have no way of visualizing where things should go. Besides, how am I going to distinguish one bit of space from another? There's not supposed to be a lot around up there, right?"

"Another plan, then." Tony concluded. "Can you turn them into fish?"

"Possibly, but they look awfully big on the schematics. I don't want to accidentally set the things off while I'm fiddling with them. Besides, I don't think you want a swimming missile on the loose. It'd probably be a shark, too."He shivered.

"Your versatility and ability to break nature is surprisingly unhelpful in this case," Tony muttered. "Could you turn just the radioactive material into something else? I imagine a missile that hits and just blasts shaving cream over everything wouldn't be too horrible."

"I suppose," Harry said, unconvinced. "No fancy Muggle solutions? It is a fancy Muggle weapon, after all?" He turned to Sif. "How about the Asgard? Any possibility of help from there?"

"Doubtful," Sif answered simply. "The doings of Midgard are of little interest to any of my kin. Though I suppose a call for help could be attempted." She frowned. "I will send a message to Heimdall."

"Anything that might help," Harry said, nodding. "Considering I can make the missiles as light as air, if all else fails we could literally carry them out. It'll look comical, but I guess that S.H.I.E.L.D. might be able to defuse the things."

Clint finally had enough, leaning forward. "Are you two completely nuts?"

Harry glared at Clint. "You've seen me deflect a giant green fist in mid-air, blast things with invisible force and I just apparated back from Nevada, yet it's  _here_  that you get sceptical?"

"Several contingency solutions were put in place by S.H.I.E.L.D. planning, in the event that this team cannot solve the problem on their own," Fury said sharply. "If you cannot agree on a single one, then we will be forced to improvise, and that would probably be bad news for Chile."

"You wouldn't," Tony said, raising an eyebrow. "Detonating a nuclear warhead in Chile would effectively irradiate the west coast. If not immediately, then the Gamma-infected creatures will travel north, and there's millions of them. If there's even a few that react similarly to…" He glanced at Bruce. "Well, we'd be in a ton of trouble, especially when people start eating that stuff. Can you imagine having uncontrolled Gamma-experiments going on all over the place?"

"Think of a better solution, Stark. Find a way to make this work." He stared around to each of the six people who would be going. "Don't fuck it up."

* * *

"A broom. An honest-to-goodness flying broom," Tony said, staring at the floating piece of wood in confusion. "I shouldn't be surprised anymore, but I am." He tried to shove the broom down but it stayed stubbornly at hip-height, merrily disobeying gravity. "Remarkable, it's like it's stuck in mid-air… Is it quantum locked, except relative to the perfectly normal ground instead of a cooled superconductor?"

"I thought I'd told you that it was magic," Harry muttered, putting on the invisibility cloak with a flourish. He'd offered it to Natasha for her part of the mission since there it could do the most good, but she'd not taken the offer. He supposed that a cloak wasn't the greatest item for stealth since it got stuck on things and made noise, but he had spells to counteract such limitations. Natasha didn't, and presumably any advantage of being invisible would be overshadowed by being both clumsy and loud.

Harry reluctantly put the Resurrection Stone around his neck, set in its brooch. He wasn't going to use it, not without an incredibly good reason, but he wasn't going to hide it, either. He'd lost people before, he knew that it was more than likely that some would die today while he went out to defuse these bombs. He felt guilty over his role in the death of the old man that Death had showed him since he'd been personally responsible. He'd gotten used to living with guilt, though. It would only feed his anger. He could use that, now. That anger would make things a lot nastier, but also a lot easier.

"I'm fully stocked," Tony murmured, glancing at his suit that was hanging in pieces near the ceiling. "I can probably fire till morning and the circuits still won't burn out. Brilliant."

"I only have the one weapon," Harry said, twirling the Elder Wand around on his finger. "But I know how to use it."

"I'd hope so," Natasha said dryly as she looked speculatively at Harry's broom. "Are you sure you don't want a lift in the plane?"

"Too noisy," Tony answered first. "Can't hear my music in that tin can. This one's properly insulated so I can heard the full vocal ranges of some fantastic singers. It's heaven. Besides, who's going to blast the enemy to smithereens from  _inside_ a plane?"

"We'll be ready for any unwanted attention," Harry confirmed. "You keep an eye on Sif, will you? She's not terribly fond of this whole flying thing. I swear, she almost puked all over my-" He cringed, expecting a reprimand, though nothing came. "I suppose she's out of earshot. Believe me, that's a  _long_ way with her."

"I will see you topside, then. With your, eh, broom" Natasha turned, waving over her shoulder. "Don't slow this down any more, will you?"

Tony shook his head as he looked after her. Then he turned to Harry, frowning seriously. "Jarvis, turn off everything that's watching this room. I do mean  _everything._ " There was a soft beep and several of the screens in the walls powered down while the suit that hung in pieces from the ceiling shuddered lightly as Jarvis put it on halt.

"What was that for?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s a little too curious," Tony responded. "That's why I'm hacking their database, actually. Soon I'll have every bit of juicy information that the big black, bald leader guy wants to keep from us." He paused, frowning. "That's not what I want to talk about, though. I figured I'd ask you, since the big guy's being evasive. What the hell happened out there in the desert?"

"Ah." Harry paused. "We… had a talk," he said diplomatically. "It's sort of private."

"I heard about that," Tony replied, narrowing his eyes. "You had things in common, sang kumbaya together by the campfire or whatever, that kind of stuff. I know that's censored, and I want to know why."

"What about the word  _private_  do you not understand?" Harry asked, shaking his head. "What happened out there is between those who were present, and nobody else. Look, I know that this whole thing with us living here is weird and that you probably think that we're keeping secrets..."

"No kidding."

"You'll have to trust me a little, at least." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "I think that Bruce, living out there in the Brazilian wilderness, was driving himself a little mad. Having people around who have barely any connection to his personal history and who aren't hunting him down is probably the equivalent of finding the Holy Grail. He told me some stuff – showed me some stuff – that I think he wouldn't have, normally. He certainly wouldn't want me to spread it around." He sighed. "I accidentally showed him something of my own history, something that wasn't pretty. I think that convinced him that I could understand at least a little of his own… early days. It all spiralled out of control from there."

Tony frowned. "I know that you wouldn't intentionally hurt people, but Bruce… he really does seem like he's had some kind of serious blow. Like he's still reeling from the impact of whatever you did."

"I wouldn't be surprised." Harry said. "He found a part of himself that was missing, I suppose. I don't know how much control he really has - but I know the Hulk will give all its got in smashing this base to little bits."

Tony just stared for a long moment, then nodded. "Right then, trust. Not a master at that, but I suppose I've got something to work at. Maybe when you've got the trust the other way around, you can tell me what really went on."

"Perhaps," Harry agreed. "Now, are there any part of this suit that you want to be unbreakable?"

Tony faltered. " _You can make things unbreakable?"_

Harry blinked owlishly. This was a familiar response. "Another vital engineering limitation that I just fixed with magic, I take it?"

Tony sputtered. "How do wizards not rule the world yet? There must be  _some_  with more than two braincells to rub together!"


	22. Counter

" _Entering the facility now,"_ Clint said softly over the radio. Harry glanced down at the mountain range that slowly passed by, far below, and turned back towards the airplane. He had to accelerate a little to keep up with it; he couldn't reach Tony's ludicrous speeds, but Harry honestly didn't mind a little fast flying.

"Natasha, how's it going on your end?" Harry asked at last, tapping the little radio he'd put on his ear. He didn't know how long it'd last in the heat of battle, but for now it'd be fine. "Any idea how long this is going to take?"

" _On the off chance that someone's listening in, let's keep real names out of things,"_ she replied tersely _. "You know our codenames, just go with those. As for your question: I'm only a few dozen feet away from Hawkeye right now, so nothing too exciting to tell you yet. Just that people here have a very peculiar fashion sense."_

" _You can say that again. Who the hell wears yellow voluntarily?"_

Harry smiled ruefully as he imagined the man's disgusted stare. Clint Barton went by 'Hawkeye' as a codename, and Harry didn't really have to guess why given the bow strapped to his back, his favourite weapon. The only weapon other than a wand that Harry had ever held was Gryffindor's sword, and as far as knowing how to fight, his knowledge base mostly consisted of knowing which end the pointy side had to face.

Natasha was a bit more familiar, though not quite like he remembered her; there was a lot more professional spy and less supposed tourist than ever. Granted, the last time they'd spent any time together hadn't been a world-threatening crisis, but still. He'd have to see if he could meet her after this was over and go back to the easy and uncomplicated atmosphere that had been present in Afghanistan. It was odd, how such a war-torn country could seem so peaceful to him, but he'd long since stopped caring about that. The fact that she went by 'Black Widow' was curious in itself, really.

Harry tapped his radio again. "Keep us up to date on what's going on. The doctor and Sif are getting pretty bored sitting around, and Iron Man's resorted to trying to spell out words in the clouds, as far as I can tell." Harry rubbed his head tiredly. "Speaking of which – why are you not in position?"

"Hold your horses, flyboy," Tony replied, suddenly dropping out of the sky right in front of the broom, its repulsors firing at the last moment to bring him level. Tony flipped open his suit's visor, and winced. "Man, the wind's pretty strong up here, how are you holding out against that with just those dorky glasses?"

"Magic," Harry and Tony said simultaneously, and Harry smiled despite himself as Tony rolled his eyes. Harry tapped him on the chest plate and raised an eyebrow. "Would you mind not wandering off when we have a world to save?"

"I wasn't  _wandering off,_ " Tony muttered. "I was getting a better idea of the kind of area we're flying over, actually, since the satellite coverage is out-dated and inferior. Clearly someone needs to build some better global surveillance satellites. If only I had the ability to create a cheap method of putting things in space, by artificially decreasing their mass, for example…"

"I get it," Harry answered. "What did you find?"

"It's looking pretty remote and spooky to me. Granted, it probably means that A.I.M. is flying their supplies in from elsewhere, which wouldn't be  _that_  surprising. They did send those unmanned drones to blow us up, after all."

"Blow  _you_  up," Harry responded dryly. "Even when I started turning stuff into sea creatures, those things didn't care for my existence. They were all after you. You make yourself a target even when nobody knows your identity, which is pretty telling, really. That attitude of yours, it makes people angry."

Tony sputtered. "What  _attitude_?"

Harry snorted. "Can you keep your head in the game? Blowing things up and stopping world-threatening missiles is kind of new to me. It's been a while since I did this kind of thing, so I can't help but get a bit nervous. I suppose it's old news for the great Tony Stark?"

"First timer, I'm afraid." He pouted. "They'll be gentle, won't they?" Tony flipped his faceplate closed again, letting out a sigh of relief and missing Harry's frosty look. "You know, mentioning stuff like your vague but undoubtedly interesting past so casually kind of makes me wonder how much of it is a joke and how much is serious. That is  _weird_ , since it's exactly what people always say about  _me_."

"It's personal stuff," Harry said, glancing away. "It's all a long time ago, and Muggles never found out. Many good people died. I suppose you could say I'm a war veteran, in as far as that kind of term applies to people like me. Hermione once said it was tantamount to being a child soldier, though it never felt like that at the time."

"That's..." Tony didn't say anything for a moment. "You still have that fuzzy thing up, right?"

"Yeah, S.H.I.E.L.D. won't hear anything I don't want them to know," Harry agreed, glancing over curiously. "What is it?"

"You seem to be talking about an actual war - a wizard war, I guess - you were involved in long ago? Yet you're barely thirty. What kind of place do you come from? What kind of barbaric...?"

"It's not quite like that," Harry argued. "Most people didn't get involved in anything of the sort until they were adults, after they finish school. It's just that when I went there, things were pretty nasty, and I ended up being central to things. I was put in the impossible position of being the only one that could end things, with scarcely enough knowledge to get me through school let alone through an ordeal like that. The fact that I survived was a small miracle. Doubly so, really."

"So... you're a veteran. At thirty. Who were you fighting?"

"A dark wizard," Harry said, grimacing. "A self-styled Dark Lord named Tom Riddle. He had a small army of loyal supporters that killed and tortured in the name of many things, but most of all in his name. It was bad enough that when he picked a name to go by, almost nobody even dared to speak it." He glanced at Tony neutrally. "In the end, I killed him."

"I know this will probably sound weird, but... well done? I mean, if he was a murderous bastard..."

Harry frowned. "It was good that he was finally defeated, that the killings could stop. I don't look back on those days with happiness, though. Considering all that happened then, I honestly wanted to move on afterwards, to let Tom remain nothing more than a memory." He rubbed his forehead tiredly, tracing the remnants of his scar. "I suppose he's still that, at least."

"I know a little of what that's like," Tony said after a moment. "Before you found me, out there in the desert, there was another man with me in the caves. He helped me build the first suit - he helped me get out of there alive." He was silent after that, but Harry could fill in the rest.

"I'm sorry." Harry tried, but he stopped. For a few long minutes nothing was said. Finally Harry turned back to Tony, who was still hovering besides him. "These A.I.M. people – I don't care what happens to their machines, but if they give up, if they put down their weapons, just knock them out, alright? We're here to defuse those bombs, after all."

"They're  _terrorists,_ Harry."

"Yes, I know. I also know that not  _all_ terrorists are willingly pulled into that fold, and some are in there for motives that you and I could respect." Harry thought back to people like Snape and Draco Malfoy. They'd been involved in Voldemort's plans and one of them had done quite a few unsavoury things just to keep his cover. Even after five years of hunting Dark Wizards and seeing more than a fair share die at the hands of one of their own or themselves, Harry still hadn't really adapted to causing death, even in the line of duty. He'd do it, but it was all far too similar to Voldemort for his liking. He'd never used the Killing Curse, and he didn't intend to start; he'd already tried using the other Unforgivables more than he would care to admit. It was always easy to justify, and afterwards he'd just wonder how much difference there really was between him and Tom, aside from the choices they'd made. He supposed he could take comfort in the Headmaster's belief that it was precisely those choices that made the difference pronounced. "Only if they give up or surrender. Alright?"

"I can't claim to hold the moral high ground," Tony said. "I was a weapons manufacturer for most of my career, and I designed a lot of the stuff I sold. The terrorists that kidnapped me took my weapons to use against my country, and I'm probably responsible for hundreds of deaths on our end of the war. There's plenty of hardware still out there, even with our production lines going for something different." Tony sighed laboriously. "You already know all that, so you know where I'm coming from when I say that anyone willing to stand and fight for these terrorists is pretty safely labelled a terrorist themselves."

"And you don't negotiate with terrorists," Harry said dryly. "I've seen the news."

"Look, in the end it's a numbers game – and I'm good at those. Let's say we go in guns blazing. Yes, there might be a few people that might not have deserved being killed, and that's terrible. However, what If you let a few people escape, believing they are innocent, and the next week they pull another attack like that? That's actually happened, you know. You have to balance things out, consider what the costs and benefits are like you're not talking about lives. How many terrorists are worth an innocent's life?"

Harry grimaced at those words. "A life for a life, is it? I suppose you're right. If they give up I'll spare them, but if they keep on attacking..." He glanced down at the Elder Wand and frowned. "They're going to get a taste of doomsday."

"Nice. Bit theatrical, but after the Jericho I can't really comment on that sort of thing." The Iron Man suit suddenly snapped upright, repulsors flaring to keep Tony level. "Hold on, I've got some new information about the enemy forces. They just got in range."

Harry nodded. "Where are they?"

"About twenty minutes off at their present speed, which is considerable." Tony pointed southwards, steadying himself with the other repulsor. "I've picked up at least twenty possible contacts, which means the actual number might be twice that, though they don't register as particularly large. These dots aren't on any of the military charts S.H.I.E.L.D. delivered, nor the ones that I shamelessly plucked from the Chilean military, so..."

"A.I.M, then."

"Probably. This isn't exactly the most hospitable place to place a terrorist base, but it seems like they figured out how to work it anyway. I'm kind of curious how they manage."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, I recall that the last terrorist base you were in was in the middle of a desert. That's not exactly easily accessible either. Considering what you built in those caves, finding atomic weapons in the middle of nowhere seems unsurprising."

"True. I don't suppose you brought your donkeys?"

Harry glared at Tony. "If A.I.M. is already on to us, what do we do? Without a good idea of what we're facing, we can't just charge in, especially if there's still people around the weapons that could set them off at a moment's notice. If we start a battle out here, they'll be forewarned…"

"I think the S.H.I.E.L.D. people will be fine – from what I've read of their files, they could steal the wings off a fly and it wouldn't even notice. Or pin them to the wall with an arrow, I suppose, since that guy from Dungeons and Dragons they sent along is a bit of a one-trick pony. Well, you're a Wizard, so I can't complain. Do you think they'd class me as a Knight in shining armour?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're such a hobbit. Anyway, these contacts seem familiar, and are becoming more so every second. They're nearly identical to the drones that we picked off over Los Angeles."

"This time there's nothing for them to crash into but the ground and each other," Harry observed. Tony's earlier comments had reminded him of his own run-in with a literal spectre of death. That visit to the icy plains of hell was weighing heavily on his mind, since the entity had known about his old world, about home. That meant it had some kind of connection with there, or was indeed the exact being that had given the Hallows to the Peverells. Some part of that legend was true, after all.

There was something more worrying than the existence of this being than that: It could sense when he used the Hallows and could rip his soul out of his body at will. What chilled him to the bone was that the rules it imposed were dangerously retroactive. He hadn't known anything about the Resurrection Stone working differently on this side. His attempt to reach Dumbledore hadn't called on anyone from this side – whatever vague shade there'd been had come from across the worlds, and that seemed to be a loophole in Death's rules. Those new rules were enforced even if Harry didn't know about them. A life had been taken without him even being aware of it at the time, and he felt dreadful about it. He'd decided to go find out who it had been, who he had killed. If there was anything he could do for those left behind in the wake of the death he'd unintentionally caused, he'd do it.

The rules on the Resurrection Stone's use worried him, beyond just what it could cause. Were there other such spontaneous regulations that could pop up at any moment? What if the next time he used the Cloak to hide someone, they never appear again? What if the next time the Elder Wand killed, he'd strike down innocents as well? He'd been using those two Hallows a lot more than the ring, and they seemed to work fine, but what if he'd been screwing things up without even realizing it? Could he trust Death to be fair when it'd just snuffed out a life because of something Harry wasn't even aware of?

"There you go again," Tony said. "Off on one of your mental tangents? Did that brain death thing knock a few screws loose?"

"Just thinking of what spells to use," Harry said casually, leaning back on his broom as he quickly rose through the air. "A little… creativity, perhaps?" He smiled forcibly, hoping that a little violence could get his mind off heavy topics. "Let's end this real quick – we don't know how long Black Widow and Hawkeye are still working on getting us the information we need. So – blowing up some drones should keep A.I.M. distracted."

"Now you're talking my language! Explosions!" Tony blasted away at high speed towards the drones, calling for Harry to follow.

Harry quickly accelerated to his broom's top speed, not nearly as fast as the Iron Man suit could reach. Harry grabbed the Elder Wand tight in his hand, as it was almost trembling. It was as if it knew what was coming, and Harry hadn't been in a proper fight since he had his standoff with Bruce, so it was a bit restless. Sometimes the wand felt a little too alive for comfort. Well – it would serve its master, at least.

* * *

"Hawkeye?"

"I'm in position," Clint answered softly. "I'm half a mile east of you, on the third floor below ground level. It's a lot bigger than I'd anticipated, by the way. Kind of spacious for a terrorist base, don't you think? Can't imagine they built this themselves, or they'd have burned right through the cash they'd need to blow things up."

"They didn't build it," Natasha said, dropping an old and worn military banner that had been lying in the corridor. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, but the writing was still clear enough. "We're looking at a secret U.S. military base as far as I can tell. At least forty years old, and abandoned for nearly that duration, if the decay is anything to go by. I assume the army's expunged it from their records and collapsed it, and some Chileans dug it up again."

"A.I.M. found it, one way or another," Clint agreed. "They probably didn't do much to alter most of the lower levels, but they're responsible for all the heavy plating upstairs. This thing's pretty missile-resistant I figure, and the satellites didn't pick it up until they started toying with high-grade radioactive material." Clint edged forward, glancing through a slit-like window into the adjoining corridor. "It's remarkably devoid of life in here, once you get past the outer guards."

"I assume that they don't need all the space. Even for a high-tech organization with bombs to build, having a huge complex like this is probably overkill. They've probably put this huge area here to disallow one to easily enter or exit, which would discourage people like us. It's pretty clever, if you think about it. Unless you're pretty well-prepared, you'll need to brute-force your way in, and if you don't know exactly where the people are..."

Clint quickly ducked as one of the rare patrols passed by, also clad in the garish yellow of the outside guard. It had to be some kind of uniform, but he had no idea what it was supposed to blend in with. The base wasn't even coloured yellow, which would've made it slightly more reasonable as a camouflage colour at least. When the man had well passed he checked his quiver; he had a few dozen arrows, and he wasn't going to waste them on people like that.

"I'm going in further," Natasha whispered, tapping her ear. "The old military compound idea would suggest that the deepest parts are where the really good stuff is hidden. I haven't seen any launch tubes yet for the nukes, though I can guess where they're located."

"I have a pretty good idea too," Clint agreed. "I had S- Iron Man check, and the radiation seems fairly well-contained within a specific section of the compound, at least on the satellite pictures. Presumably it's the signature from above, where the radiation isn't stopped by thick walls of lead, but are released directly into the atmosphere."

"I'm moving in, radio silence for a bit," Natasha warned as she quickly strode to the end of the hallway, checking for cameras and listening for any patrols – nothing. Thankfully her footsteps were very silent, and when she slowly ducked around the corner and suddenly found herself five feet from an oblivious guard, she didn't hesitate. With one quick slice of a knife the black-clad figure sagged against the wall. "First guard, looks like he's wearing his own stuff. Clock's ticking until they find out he's vanished."

"Understood."

Natasha hurried through the hallway as quickly as she dared. Though the many corridors winding together were confusing, she had a pretty good idea of where she was headed, and she quickly descended the nearest set of stairs. Silently she slipped a few little pellets from her belt and into her hand.

The base seemed mostly abandoned even by A.I.M. forces. Though there had been plenty of guard troops outside, the quick and stealthy approach had evidently passed them by entirely. They'd been dropped off half an hour's walk away by the S.H.I.E.L.D. plane and made it on foot from there, and neither of them had even needed to stun anyone to get in. Was A.I.M. so confident that their defences were lacklustre at best, or was there more to it? It was peculiar, to say the least.

"Anything yet?"

"No." Natasha quickly made her way further down the next set of stairs. "Looks like most of this place is still abandoned. Hold on." She tapped her earpiece again, hitting a little button on the back. "Director?"

" _Yes?"_

"Any information on a military base in this area, probably from the sixties? I didn't figure we did any nuclear testing here."

" _No data in public files, and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s got access to pretty much everything from that era. If it's one of ours, it's definitely Black Ops. If it's been abandoned though, there's probably not much left of what used to be there."_

"Figured it'd be like that."

A sharp sound suddenly resounded through the hallway and Natasha had her gun ready in an instant. The sound had come from ahead, definitely. She'd been talking very softly, so whoever this was probably hadn't noticed her yet, which meant options. Though sight was obscured by a garishly red set of stairs that was almost entirely stacked full of disused tools, and huge piles of rusted metal boxes, Natasha did notice a set of boots peeking out from under a pile of disused desks and chairs. It was definitely an A.I.M. guard, give the fact that they were bright yellow.

The wait was shorter than it seemed as Natasha breathed very lightly, her silenced weapon ready for the kill, though even that sound would carry quite a long way in a place as silent as this. It took the man nearly a minute to cross the distance, his bright yellow jumpsuit visible in reflections all over the walls and the glass before he ever came near. Natasha pressed herself against the wall. If her first plan didn't work, she'd need to be very quick with the gun. The moment the guard stepped into view, she moved. In a single action a hand smacked right into his oesophagus and he stumbled a step backwards, his eyes wide as he grabbed at his throat with tears in his eyes, dazed. Natasha popped one of the capsules she'd taken out, shoving it right under the man's nose. His eyes widened and he let out a tired sigh, almost like relief, as he dropped unconsciously to the ground.

Widow's Kiss was a tool she didn't use very often, but it came in handy. Based on a Russian knockout-gas from the Cold War, Natasha had modified it quite a bit to meet her own needs, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had been willing to make the modifications in exchange for the formula. Compared to the usual that would simply knock someone unconscious for an hour, this one did more - mixed in were psychotropic compounds that made the victim loopy, so even if they were woken up by allies, they'd be of no use.

"Sleep tight," Natasha said with a slight smile as she quickly undid the front of the man's jumpsuit. "Hawkeye, got one of them." She frowned. "Promise me you'll never mention this to the others. You know what some of them would make of drugging people and stealing their clothes…"

"Are they the right size?" Clint asked. "I mean, you'll end up looking like a banana either way, so I'd prefer being one that can fit inside its skin."

"They're shapeless and ridiculously stretchy," Natasha muttered as she pulled on the fabric. "Can't believe they wear this stuff."

Clint groaned. "Great. Spandex. Just what I always wanted."

Natasha chuckled. "You looked cute, the last time you wore something like that."

"It was  _purple_ and two sizes too small!" Clint spat. "It wasn't stealthy, it wasn't helpful, and I still question whether or not the higher-ups were playing a joke on me. If I didn't know that Fury has no sense of humour to speak of, I'd suspect he was behind it, too…"

"This really isn't the time for that. Just get one of the suits for yourself, and try not to poke too many holes in it. These things won't do anything for stealth, as you say, but they should allow one to bypass a superficial check."

"I'll see what I can find." Clint replied, readying his bow. The large open spaces were ideal, and though he'd brought his backup weaponry, he probably wouldn't need it. He smiled wickedly as he went on the hunt. "Call you when I'm done. Hawkeye out."

* * *

Bruce and Sif sat awkwardly across from each other in the back of the S.H.I.E.L.D. aircraft, neither of them speaking much. Bruce stared at the screen which depicted Harry and Tony outside the plane on one of the long-range cameras – they were a mile out, keeping an eye out for threats. The plane would remain stealthy as long as was necessary, and would hopefully avoid detection with the other two serving as a lure far too tasty to pass up.

"Dr. Banner?"

Bruce turned, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, Sif?"

Sif hesitated, glancing towards the cockpit before lowering her voice. "I wanted to tell you that I will keep all that I witnessed to myself, as it is not mine to share. There is a strict code of honour among many Asgardians, and I will keep it."

Bruce nodded wearily. "I suppose that's all I can ask for."

"The Seidmadr could do more," Sif said. "Force my tongue, at the very least, if not outright make me forget what has occured. I would prefer to keep my honour myself, though. I would rather that you think of me more trustworthy through my actions than through forced compliance."

"I can understand that," Bruce said, sighing. He fidgeted in his seat as the low drone of the engines filled up the silence that fell. Finally he looked up at Sif again, who hadn't moved a muscle. "I'm curious, really. How much of the legend is true? Are you truly Thor's wife?"

Sif's eyes went wide, and then she laughed. "Thor, and I? The way that vain ponce acts, he has never had much of a chance, not with anyone. Perhaps when he has learned manners he will find a woman to be with, or perhaps he will find one who can tolerate his whims."

"Figures we got some things wrong," Bruce said, smiling sheepishly. For a moment he was silent, then he grimaced. "And... what about Niflheim? Valhalla? The realms of the dead?"

"Ah…" Sif looked away. "I should have known this would come."

"Do they exist?"

Sif nodded. "What you doubtlessly contemplate will not happen. Be glad with the moments that you received with  _him_ , when so many never see their loved ones again."

"I suppose," Bruce said, sighing. "It's just... the accident he mentioned, that history of his. I wonder how much of it played into the other guy's beginnings. Did I really inherit that from him? Was  _my_  accident not the one that truly created this? Two generations, two accidents, I can't believe it's a coincidence. He might know the answer."

"Not all answers are so easily grasped," Sif said. "Does it matter which is responsible?"

Bruce was silent for a bit. "Perhaps I can ask Harry to bring him back again, to finish what we started."

"You will not ask that of him," Sif said sharply. "Once was offered out of the kindness of his heart, I am certain. To ask it of him again..."

Bruce blinked, perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

Sif frowned darkly. "What Harry did requires paying a price, I know that much about the workings of the hereafter. I do not know what he sacrificed, and sometimes I believe he has already paid, since he has looked world-weary since I first met him, as if he'd already lived through Hel. Regardless, even such fleeting contact with the dead is something that not even the All-Father is willing to dare. There are too many dangers, too many possible risks. He could have died, right there, or his soul could have been lost. You should be thankful that some people, like him, are brave or foolish enough to do this, for nothing more than a close friend."

"I… he didn't tell me anything like that," Bruce said, stunned. "He brushed it off!"

Sif just shook her head. "Traveling to the realms is possible, but to speak to those who inhabit them is to sign one's own death warrant, unless one is very careful."

"You knew that, and you just let him do it?"

"Who am I to question our ancient allies on the use of their considerable abilities? If he wishes to risk his soul to heal yours, then I will let him. I protect his body, it is his own task to guard his soul."

"I can't believe this!"

"The Seidhr have a long history with the Asgardian people, Dr. Banner." Sif said, and she sighed. "Long ago, when we were as gods in Midgard, the All-Father made a pact with them, so that they might trade and share responsibility for this world's safety. The Seidhr of that time were powerful - very powerful - and they created artefacts of great beauty. It is in those days that Odin fashioned himself Gungnir, the spear that he yet wields."

She stood up, raising her own blade before her. "This sword was created by his hand, based upon the teachings of those ancient allies, the people that were slain, shortly before Midgard became one of the lost worlds, one which we no longer visited." She glanced to the monitors, where Tony and Harry could still be seen. "It is said that on those last days, Odin All-Father and the leader of the Seidhr people agreed to share their greatest gifts with each other, to make the alliance binding. Odin offered the Seidhr their own world in Yggdrasil, cleansed of the monstrous inhabitants that had long called it home. No longer would they need to live among the humans, here. Though they rejected the offer, the leader requested one thing. He wished to see Valhalla."

"Did he get to see it?"

"Oh, yes." Sif smiled sadly. "The day that he would have gone to Asgard, to look upon the splendour there, the attack happened. Seidhr and Asgardian alike were caught up in it, and in the end we escaped back to our world, while the last of the Seidhr fought on, slain to the man. This is the only time in living memory that Odin went to Hel upon his steed, forcing Hela to bend to his will. He wished to see that the soul of the departed would still see the golden halls. Whatever was seen there, I do not know, but Odin was convinced thereafter that the Seidhr leader had come to see Valhalla after all, and was not in Hel. In exchange for his intrusion, however, Hela took the life of the steed that had brought Odin into her realm. He was as intelligent as any Asgardian, and many mourned its loss." She looked on Bruce sadly. "This is why it is unwise to force such matters. The dead are beyond our reach for a reason, and to call them back is to invite destruction."

"I... understand. Though I shudder to think what kind of price Harry paid, if the most powerful of the Norse gods would barely do this for fear of the consequences."

"The Seidhr decided to fight to the last to allow the Asgardian people time to safe themselves," Sif noted. "Nobility was not unknown to them. I merely hope that Harry is capable of living with the price, more so than whether it was worth paying. I would suggest using what you learned well, so that it was not in vain."

Bruce nodded, looking to the screen. "I suppose Harry's people never did get their part of the deal, then. Allies with the very gods, and still there are very few, if any, left. I see that look in his eyes, sometimes, as if he's completely lost."

"Perhaps it is not too late to fulfill Asgard's promises," Sif answered, smiling.

Bruce nodded. "Did the wizards end up paying their end of the deal, before everything went south?"

"Yes," Sif said, frowning. "It was a great artefact, meant to be the crown jewel of Odin's throne room. Where it is now, I do not know. It was lost long ago."

* * *

Harry veered out of the way just in time, a stray shard of metal bouncing harmlessly against his protective spells before the neatly bisected hull of the A.I.M. drone crashed into him. The two parts each tried to fly away on their own, but the engines quickly sputtered out as coolant sprayed out in all directions, and the lights went dark. Harry righted himself and looked after the falling parts as they crashed to the ground far below.

"Nice one!" Tony yelled as he passed by, twin repulsors firing in short bursts as he seared a neat line into the sides of another drone, sparks and flames bursting to life before dousing from the air rushing in. "What  _was_  that, anyway?"

"Cutting Curse," Harry answered as he rolled his eyes. That had indeed been a powerful one – like with so many spells, you really had to concentrate to pull off a good one, and he had no issues with blasting these hunks of metal into little bits. Tony blasted through the sky with three of the things after him at all times, and he didn't seem to mind it one bit; they were firing small machine guns and the vicious heat-based weapons they'd used before. They ricocheted off the suit or seared off the paint, but they weren't making much headway. "Need any help there?"

"I'm fine," Tony answered as he launched into a breath-taking upside-down spin, the drones trying to keep up with the sudden acceleration and deceleration with remarkable speed, though by the way they wobbled in the sky, it wasn't doing their circuitry any favours. "They're persistent, aren't they?"

Harry pushed the Firebolt to its limits as he tailed the group, the wood groaning in protest as he forced it through curves it wasn't meant for in an effort to keep up with the mayhem. As a sharp flash of one of those weapons splashed across his protective spells, Harry had to quickly veer off and put out the back of the broom that'd almost burst into flame from the sheer heat, even through his  _Protego._  "Is that suit of yours insulated against shocks?" he asked quickly, tapping his radio. "Well?"

"Of course," Tony answered snidely. "Otherwise, I wouldn't fly in a tin can that could fall out of the sky at any moment. Who do you think I am?"

"Just checking," Harry answered and he smiled viciously as he raised his wand and brought it down sharply. The sky was rent apart as Harry's spell exploded from his wand in a wave of green sparks, dozens of feet in length. The very air seemed to turn to ash for a moment as the shock lingered. The three drones unceremoniously dropped from the sky as Harry slowed, sniffing the air that'd taken on a strong scent of ozone, as if they'd just flown into a storm. "Well, that worked…"

"Okay," Tony swung down beside him, flipping open his helmet again. "What the hell was  _that?_ Maybe could you start off with that next time? _"_

"Thatwas what you get when you completely overpower a first-year spell," Harry said lightly. "Supposed to deliver a little jolt… Of course, the reason we learn it so early is that it requires next to no power or control. Imagine if you put both into it, though…" He looked at the last few drones that were a long way off and appeared to be leaving, likely the lucky survivors of one of Tony's attacks, limping home for repairs. "Let's get rid of the stragglers, shall we?"

"Wait, wait, we're not done here," Tony protested. "Did you set off a localized EMP? I wouldn't be surprised if you knocked out every electrical circuit in ten miles, if there were any. You do realize even this suit can only take so much before it too drops out of the sky? A little more warning, next time!"

Harry shrugged. "I'll stick to other stuff, then. Anyway, looks like those were just diversions." He nodded to the horizon. "We're approaching the coordinates Fury gave us, so I bet they're sending out their better stuff, keeping manned defences as the last line. Easier to sacrifice some robots, I imagine. I can guess what  _those_ are."

Three huge drones approached, their engines humming quietly, and Harry wasn't sure what was keeping the things up. They were easily five times the size of the others, and armed with some massively thick plates of armour and a vicious pair of machineguns bolted to the bottom. On the sides were at least six more heavy weapons. The ships looked almost like manta rays in shape, with the massive mouth replaced with some sort of round object, though Harry couldn't tell what it was.

"Those are the new models, I guess," Tony observed. "Jarvis – can you get the heavy stuff online, please? I think I'll need it."

" _Of course sir. Should I also get the repair station operational for your return?"_

"Are you saying I'm going to get blown up, Jarvis?"

" _Statistics indicate that –"_

"Never tell me the odds!" Tony glanced at Harry in concern. "Whoever is building these things is almost as quick in developing new technology as I am. Pretty impressive, I'd say. A.I.M. has to have recruited some serious engineering talent to pull that off. Probably have an automated assembly line too, come to think of it."

"What, they just happen to have another Tony Stark running around down there?" Harry shook his head. "Is there anyone you know that could pull this off?"

"A few, but most of them are… not on speaking terms," Tony answered. "Besides, I don't know where half of them are, or what they're working on. Pulling Stark Industries out of weapons development closed a lot of very cool-looking doors."

"You don't know where half of them are," Harry repeated, and his eyes widened. "No, that's…"

"Figured something out? Usually that's my job."

"Have you been following the news?" Harry asked slowly. "Back when we were on every cover I read whole piles of papers, trying to figure out the damage. There was something there that stood out. Kidnappings."

Tony was silent for a moment. "You're not saying…"

"You remembered what I told you about the time I broke into the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier?"

"Still awesome, by the way."

"Yeah, that. Anyway, I listened in on quite a bunch of stuff while I was there, and that included some people talking about the recent kidnappings of some pretty major scientists, which fits right in with the news reports. They're physicists, mostly, picked up straight from their home or labs and vanished into thin air. Does that sound like anything to you?"

"The Ten Rings," Tony said shortly. "You think _they_  are involved? I mean, they kidnapped  _me,_ but all they wanted was the Jericho missile. They were going to shoot me when they were done with me, and they had no issue with blasting me with lead while I was escaping."

"I don't know if they're also here, but I distinctly recall that both the group that kidnapped you and the bastards that built the Gamma-powered super suit got charitable donations out of Stark Industry's deep pockets. Stane transferred a  _lot._ "

Tony winced at the name, glancing ahead to the fast approaching vessels. "What is this, a terrorist convention?"

"We'll find out if I'm right soon enough," Harry pointed out.

"If it's true, though, then all those kidnapped scientists are bound to be here somewhere. They must be the ones that are designing and building the nuclear devices in the first place. Jarvis, put Fury on the line."

" _Immediately sir. Turning down volume to 75%"_

There were a few quick beeps, after which Fury's voice suddenly resounded from Tony's radio.  _"What is it? Is something wrong?"_

Tony cleared his throat. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been aware of missing scientists for at least some time now, I understand. I want to know what your status is on finding these people. Are there any leads as to the identity of the kidnappers?"

Fury sniffed. " _How do you know-"_

"Give me the answer, now. Besides, you know that Harry here can break into your personal office without you noticing it,  _while you are in it._  If we wanted this kind of information for nefarious purposes, we certainly wouldn't be asking you, would we?"

Fury mumbled something highly unprofessional, and then sighed.  _"Fine. No signs of any of them yet, beyond some possible sightings that never went anywhere. It's an on-going case that has possible ties to the criminal underground. Why?_

"How many of them are physicists?"

" _What do you mean, how many of them are…"_  Fury was silent for a long time, and then returned.  _"Half a dozen at least, and that's just the ones that are from the last year or so. If there are any others that were kidnapped before then we probably can't connect them to this event. Are you suggesting that A.I.M.'s responsible for this?"_

"It's a hunch," Harry said simply. "There's got to be a few in there with the technical know-how to build a bomb like this, and the others would at least understand what they were doing more than a terrorist thug would. Also, track down anything you have on the Ten Rings terrorist group, working in the Middle East. Kidnapping Tony and using him to build weapons might've been the plan, there, but there could be more to it."

"Whoever this group has, they're damn smart and quick," Tony pitched in as he closed his helmet, readying all his weapons. "They have to be as good as anyone I'd hand-pick, and that's a pretty elite gathering."

" _We have to assume these scientists were taken forcibly. In that case, we'll need to add a new objective. We can't let A.I.M. run off with our best and brightest. Dr. Banner, any idea who we might be dealing with?"_

It took a moment before Bruce spoke. "Let me think. There are few people who would know this much about the subject, at least that I know of." He paused. "I had a contact that knew quite a bit, back before Harry showed up at my doorstep, but I haven't spoken to him in a while."

" _Dr. Sterns,"_  Fury said.  _"We were keeping an eye on you, you know. After you left it wasn't very hard to track down the contacts you had made with foreign parties. Though, I have to say, you did a fair job at covering your tracks."_ He paused.  _"I'm afraid that Mr. Sterns was among those who were kidnapped. Of what nature was your contact?"_

"I was going to send him samples," Bruce said after a moment. "He was going to help me with my, well, condition. We were conversing anonymously, it's doubtful that he knows who I really am." He hesitated for a moment. "I have to say this, though – he's not an engineer. Someone else must've built the machines."

"Disturbing realization that I probably have to share... What if they have a biology guy there because they want to affect biology? You know what gamma radiation can do to people. These things could be rigged for an atmospheric detonation, that'd knock out all the electrical equipment  _and_ expose millions of people to lethal doses of radiation and fallout. The ultimate biology-killer."

"Sometimes I wonder if the Killing Curse is really so barbaric, considering the stuff you Muggles come up with. Merlin's beard!"

"Less condescending, more slicing robots in half." Tony ordered.

* * *

"I look like a Teletubbie," Clint said.

Natasha smiled. "Or Robin Hood, as portrayed by the Simpsons. Well, that's how I imagine it, anyway. I passed two patrols, nobody seemed to even notice me, despite the colours. It's like they've tuned it out entirely."

"Awfully laid-back attitude they have here, I'll give you that," Clint agreed. "Huge lead inner walls that go down all the levels – I'm thinking that's where we're heading."

"I've knocked out half a dozen guards spread out over four levels, and there's still no alarm. Even Italy didn't go  _this_  well. It's kind of suspicious, really."

"Well, that was  _Italy,"_ Clint argued. "You snagged that guy when you first appeared, you didn't even need to do any work. Just look pretty and lure him in. The clean-up was just as simple – the guy went and stood right in front of the window, like he was overseeing his majestic garden instead of looking into a grimy backwater street that stank like someone had forgotten to flush."

"You don't get to feel proud for shooting someone from fifteen feet away. That is not difficult."

Clint glanced around the corner. He froze. "Contacts." He whispered. "Forty to fifty feet down a corridor. I can't get near them without tipping them off, not with all this garbage piled around the halls."

"How many are there?"

"Eight. Six in yellow, two suits. I'm thinking they're local enforcers and their pack of goons." Clint nocked an arrow, readying a second. "I can hit them well enough, but the official-looking types are packing some serious heat. I will have six guards on my back before the first arrow hits, and they've got a pistol, too. They're guarding an entrance into the central column, I'm pretty sure."

"I'm about two floors above them, closing in on your position. There's some stairs here that should leave me right behind the group, though they'll probably spot me if I jump out. A quick crossfire from both directions would work, though."

Clint grunted. "I can draw their fire; could probably get one or two volleys off, but the yellow's going to make it pretty difficult to avoid notice after the ruse is uncovered. Dropping them all could be done but I don't know how many more would be lured in as well."

"Leave it to me, then," Natasha replied lightly. "Still have some Widow's Kiss. I'm always the one to get down and dirty, figures."

"I thought you liked that?" Clint asked lightly. One of the men stepped aside from the entrance, and Clint looked up. "Something's happening."

"What?"

Clint shook his head as he focused on the side of the door, where something large and metallic was opening up in the floor, and very slowly something ascended through it. "This is new," Clint whispered. "There's some kind of cargo lift on the side of the missile chamber, looks like a big object's being dragged to the surface. Not sure what it is yet, but it's massive."

"Is it the fourth blip?"

"Could be. Those guards are standing awfully close to it if that's so, though. I suppose these suits might be radiation-resistant or something." The huge dark shape passed by Clint's level and headed further up, while a large tarp over it was shoved aside as it snagged on the next level. Clint only saw a glimpse, but that was quite enough. "Okay, definitely the fourth blip. It's big, green, and at least two or three times the size of Iron Man's suit."

"Twice the size? I suppose that's for the boys upstairs to take down, then. Gives them something to do while we do the dirty work."

* * *

"Crap, crap, crap!" Harry's  _Aguamenti_  only barely doused the tail of his broom as he spun in a slow corkscrew past the huge drone-ship. Even with his flame-freezing charms the intense heat of the beams was quite uncomfortable, and the big ones were a lot more powerful than the mini-drones they had fought before. Dousing the flames after the twigs caught fire was a valid enough solution, but it was hardly elegant. Harry managed to right himself on the next pass, just as the ships started firing again. He jerked the broom upwards, downwards a moment later, and landed with a thud on the vessel's back, his feet skipping along the surface before he could stick to it. It took him a few moments to catch his breath.

"Get a grip. You're supposed to be killing them, not riding," Harry muttered to himself as he made his way to the front of the huge drone that had lost sight of him; its eyes couldn't look on its own back any more than Harry's could, and it flew in confused circles. Grasping the Elder Wand tightly, he thought of the most powerful gouging spell he knew. He had barely formed the incantation before the spell leaped eagerly from the wand, carving out a chunk of metal and circuitry half a meter wide from its middle, neatly bisecting all the connections to the rear half of the vehicle. Harry jumped back on his broom, zooming off as the dying machine fell.

Tony came blasting by with two of the things after him, and twisted 180 degrees in mid-air so he ended up facing them, his boot repulsors still pushing him onward. "Get a taste of this, then, Cylon bastards!" The middle arc-reactor on his chest and the two smaller ones on his shoulders suddenly blasted to full illumination, sharp and clear. Then, in a split second, the central reactor blasted out a clear sharp beam of energy, the sound of a bell resounding through the air. It effortlessly crossed through the entirety of one drone and cut another's tail in half before it finally died down. "Looks like they're really outgunned here!"

"No. I think it's a trap," Harry answered. " _This_  is all they have to defend their main base of operations? Two or three dozen automated robots, not even any ground-to-air defences? They're up to something." He tapped the radio. "Doc, Sif – are you ready for some action? I think we're running out of time here."

"We are ready, of course," Sif answered immediately. "Have we arrived?"

"We're in A.I.M.'s proverbial net, I think," Harry said shortly. "It'll be soon enough that they'll close it up, and then we're going to be facing whatever defences these people believe can take us on. I think we'll need someone to do a little smashing. Are you up for that, doc?"

Bruce hesitated. "I suppose I am."

"Good. Sif – try not to get in his way. I'd appreciate any ground support you can give, since the flying's pretty much our deal." Harry smirked knowingly. "Try not to get yourself killed, either."

Sif snorted. "To be killed on the field of battle is a great honour, but I do not intend to die this day. Ragnarok is not yet here, and someone will have to be there to keep an eye on the idiotic men. You should keep yourself safe as well – I do not wish to return to Asgard to tell the All-Father about the fall of the last of the Seidhr."

"So glad you care," Harry answered. "Now – if we're in the net, that means they've got us where they want us. On the other hand, they only really know about the Iron Man suit, and me. The Hulk was there, last time, but they'll probably not consider it showing up likely given how it pummeled me. As for Sif or S.H.I.E.L.D. support, those are our trump cards. It doesn't matter, though."

"It doesn't?"

"Tony's suit is unbreakable, Bruce is ready to smash stuff to bits, and I haven't pulled out the nastiest stuff yet," Harry summarized. "If this is a net, they'll find that where they expected a tuna, they fished up a shark."

"What is a shark?" Sif wondered.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right, the moment we hear from Black Widow and Hawkeye, we're going in. That means Iron Man and I will be smashing a hole straight into the base, to get to the missiles as quickly as possible. That means we're going to stir up the hornet's nest and probably flush out every defensive force that A.I.M. has. Bruce and Sif will have to keep those forces busy, mostly prevent them from firing anything particularly large at us. They might end up doing that and blowing their bombs right here if things get too hairy for them. When we've disabled the warheads, the second step will be their destruction, so that the parts can't be used again, and finding missing scientists that A.I.M. might have kidnapped."

"Understood."

"You sound like you've done this sort of thing before," Tony said, raising an eyebrow. "What role did you have back in that conflict, anyway?"

"I was the closest thing to Wizarding military," Harry admitted. "Spent most of my early adulthood fighting, and even after that was over, I just continued doing it, because it was a good thing to do and I could pull it off. Made it my career, if you will. Just as you have terrorists who misuse technology here, we have dark wizards that misuse magic to harm people and to destroy society from within."

"You're a magical copper," Tony observed. "And here I was impressed with Magnum P.I."

* * *

" _Impossible."_

"What?" Clint raised a hand to his ear. "What is it? Black Widow? Have you been spotted?"

"He's dead. He's supposed to be dead." Natasha paused. "The suit that passed by you, I just saw it. The front was open, and there was someone inside, operating the thing, that couldn't be here. The last time I saw him he was burning to death, he  _can't_ be here."

Clint frowned. "Leave him to the others, then. Natasha, don't do anything foolish."

"No names," she snapped, glancing up at the cargo lift. "The man in that suit was a very highly-placed KGB agent. If he's here, who else might be?"

"Are you saying you're compromised?"

Natasha tapped her radio. "Director? You'll want to know this, right now. There's a big suit heading up top, some kind of upgraded version from the one in L.A. It's got a new pilot, though, and you're going to  _love_ this. I just saw Boris Bullski."

" _Bullski is there? Are you certain?"_

"Definitely. He must not have died in Leningrad after all, though I can't imagine how he survived. I didn't even see scars, either." She shook her head. "If Boris is here, then others might be. People who would recognize my face."

"Understood. Hawkeye, can you go in alone?"

Clint sighed. "Already on it."

* * *

"Did you just hear that?" Tony turned around on a dime. "That hum?"

"A hum?" Harry frowned, straining his ears. "No. Do you suppose it's more drones coming this way? After that last batch I figured they'd have given up."

"No, but it reminds me of..." Tony stopped suddenly. "Crap. Get to the plane! Quick!" He burst off at full speed, boot repulsors blazing as he streaked across the sky at incredible velocity. Harry trailed after him at breakneck speeds, wondering what was going on, when he too heard it.

The humming was barely noticeable, but it was getting louder, and Harry winced as he changed directions and the pitch suddenly changed. "What is it?" Harry wondered over the radio, just as they were getting within a few hundred meters of the plane; Tony was already there. "That noise?"

The sky split and the air shook as Harry found himself suddenly falling, his broom descending alongside him, streaking through the air without its rider. Something huge and shimmering filled the sky, like a solid wall of blue, and he barely had the presence of mind to notice that he was going down. The plane carrying Bruce and Sif plummeted past him towards the ground, its engines burned out, and even the Iron Man sputtered and faltered, barely capable of remaining in the sky.

Harry realized what was happening, and flailed around in panic, the ground approaching more quickly than he liked. " _Accio Firebolt!_ "

The broom streaked towards him from the sky, but the wind whipping past him made it nearly impossible to do anything more than grasp helplessly, his hands brushing past the singed twigs at the end before getting a grip on the broom itself and hauling himself upwards again. The sudden shift in directions almost tossed him off into the sky again, and as he wrenched the broom upwards, he heard ominous cracking in the wood. Just as the first trees came into view he managed to stop his fall, barely brushing past the tips of the foliage with the tail end of his broom as he caught himself.

He hung on his Firebolt dazedly, looking up into the sky in a panic: The plane had vanished somewhere off in the distance, a mile or two away. Bruce and Sif were still on it, they couldn't survive a crash like that! Tony slowly descended towards him, his repulsors sputtering as he barely kept himself in the air. That suit certainly wasn't up for any rescue flights. Harry tried to steer his broom forward again, to go towards the S.H.I.E.L.D. plane, but his broom just sputtered in mid-air. He landed with a thud, and the broom hung limply in his hand, clear cracks running all along it. It seemed that his old trusty broom had given up the ghost at last.

The sky was blue – an unnatural blue, far sharper than it should've been. A shimmer ran across him as if it was made of glass, with whisps of clouds near the top of what had to be some kind of dome. It was like someone had planted a massive wall of energy right over them. Harry struggled with his radio. "Tony, are you okay?"

"Reasonably," Tony answered, though he didn't sound alright. "I think half the circuits are fried. If I'd been wearing the Mark II I would've crashed. Can you reach any of the others? I can't."

"Bruce, Sif, anyone?" Harry asked as he tapped all the buttons on his radio, though he only got static. "I'm not getting anything either. What the hell was that?"

"Best guess, someone read a few too many science fiction novels," Tony said as he landed with a thunk, wincing as he opened his visor; it sparked a few times as it did so, and Tony frowned. "Jarvis, analysis?"

" _Several of my systems have been cut off, including my connection to the home system, sir._ " Jarvis answered, though his voice sounded unusually tinny. " _The activation of the energy shield that is blocking transmissions caused major disturbances in electromagnetic forces surrounding it, which caused systems failure._ "

"We were hit by some serious lightning when that force field thing went up," Tony summarized. "Any trace on the others?"

" _I have coordinates of the plane's crash_ _site, though the smoke should be sufficient to track down the location. I would suggest caution._ "

"No kidding," Harry commented. "Why didn't we know about this force field? It knocked us clear out of the sky!"

"Because this technology doesn't exist," Tony said, staring up at the blue haze. "That's well beyond any that the government has, much less a terrorist organization. Gamma technology is one thing, but how the hell did they manage this?"

A shot suddenly passed overhead, followed by a few others; Harry looked at them for a moment before they impacted a few dozen meters from their location, spraying soil in all directions.

"They found us," Tony observed. "Jarvis, self-diagnostic. Give me everything you can."

" _That is only forty percent-_  "

"Do it."

Harry brandished his wand just as a handful of yellow-clad figures appeared out of the undergrowth, large weapons clasped in their hands as they fired inaccurately in his direction.

"I think we're beyond asking for surrender, don't you?" Tony muttered, closing his faceplate.

Harry nodded sharply. " _Sectumsempra_!"


	23. Some Assembly Required

"We lost all contact, sir! It looks like some kind of energy disturbance is covering everything. Our radio's sending us nothing but static, like it's being jammed." Coulson gestured to the screen where a bubble of several miles wide covered the area that had last contained the S.H.I.E.L.D. detachment.

S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters was caught up in an effort of barely constrained chaos as dozens of people attempted to reach the mission in any way they could think of, several running back and forth between computer stations and screens carrying translucent data-sheets, others feverishly calling on the telephone with everyone from the Chilean government to NASA in an attempt ro return the signal.

Coulson turned around to face Fury, paling. "You don't think... They didn't detonate something, did they?"

"Give me a visual," Fury ordered, his arms crossed behind his back as he turned to the bridge of the Helicarrier. "Attention! I want  _everyone_  on data analysis or communications. I want to know what happened to our people, and why the computers are going crazy over it. I also want this information  _five minutes ago._ "

Several people saluted, though most just gave a long-suffering sigh and got to work, well aware of the temper of their boss. Triers stared at his own screen with a frown, the four vague dots on his screen blurring together into an incoherent mess. Even if they got signal back, tactical information would be in short supply.

"Sir!" A balding agent quickly approached, carrying a handheld screen. "We will have satellite imagery in thirty seconds."

"Good," Fury nodded appreciatively as he quickly put the live feed onto the biggest screen he could find. "I'm thinking it's some type of electromagnetic weapon," he said, frowning. "There's stories about such things, though I certainly didn't know anyone built a working prototype. This terrorist group has people in high places, it seems. China, perhaps? Maybe it's old Soviet technology, considering Boris Bullski's appearance?"

"I think that the stories are all coming true these days," Coulson murmured, wincing as a tall agent stepped past him and almost shoved him off his seat. "First that cube, then all the rest. The world's gone crazy, hasn't it?"

"Image transmitting now!"

Fury looked up as the screen suddenly filled in with a semi-translucent blueish haze that encompassed a large circular area situated in a shallow valley surrounding a large military complex with concrete floors and large metal-covered structures, mostly obscured by trees. A single plume of smoke rose from under the dome.

"Is that...?"

The next image gave a clearer view of something metallic on the ground. "It seems to be the approximate size of the Armstrong, sir," Coulson noted. "I'm guessing that it went down in the activation of this field." He shook his head tiredly. "Do you suppose they're alive?"

"I wouldn't doubt it. Banner's gone through worse, for one." He quickly strode over to the other side of the bridge, glancing at the screens of several people as he passed by. "Report. Do we have any signs of a launch?"

"No, sir."

Fury nodded, turning to Coulson who had followed him. "This is uncomfortably similar to a certain something, wouldn't you agree? A force field, blue in colour, powerful enough to cover several kilometers?" He shook his head as he reached for his phone. "Get me Pegasus, and quickly," he barked into it. "I want a visual check, right away."

"We would have heard something," Coulson said. "If not from the facility, from any of the observers placed around it, or from the sensors..."

"I don't doubt it, but screw-ups have happened before," Fury muttered. "You know as well as I do that we don't have the technology to pull off something like that force field _,_  and we have the best stuff on the planet. Which leaves only one option."

" _Director Fury?"_

"Is the artefact secure?" Fury asked sharply. "Are there any irregularities?"

" _Of course it is secure. That is why the object is here, is it not? We run daily diagnostics, and we have detected no anomalies in several months, sir. Not after the last spontaneous surge. Today it is remarkably calm, actually. May I ask what this is about?_ "

"Make a visual check, right now." Fury paced over to the screen, staring at a still image of the crashed S.H.I.E.L.D. plane alongside a somewhat shrouded base of operations. Right now anything could be happening under that haze, and they didn't have a clue..

" _It's fine... it's still here, as always,"_ the flustered man on the other end said. " _What is going on, sir? You always come in person-"_

Fury sighed in relief as he got his answer. "Send a direct feed to the Helicarrier: I want to keep an eye on the object until the current crisis is finished." He glanced at Coulson, nodding. "I will send one of my best to confer with you within half the hour on improved security. There is a good chance that these terrorists might want the cube." He clicked his phone closed.

"Why did you do that?" Coulson wondered. "The colour alone...?"

"A.I.M. has been playing in our sandbox. I'm doubling security on the Pegasus facility and secondary defensive points around our most dangerous assets, and tripling staff on the arctic project until further notice. If this organization's been digging up things even remotely similar to what we found, we can count on them being able to track down the others. We can't afford to lose our collection."

"Phase 2 would be compromised," Coulson said, nodding. "We would have detected another something like the cube, wouldn't we? They can't have one too, can they?"

"That force field drains far too much power to be fueled by anything mundane, and the technology isn't something that any government has shown to have figured out. I would half-suspect our mystery Harry to be involved given his penchant for breaking nature, but I have a feeling this is more technological in nature."

Coulson nodded slowly. "Increasing defences at Pegasus makes sense, but why the arctic? What's the connection there?"

Fury turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "You know as well a I do what we're looking for out there, Agent. If they're hunting legends, these terrorists will go for the  _big_ ones. If they find him, who knows what they'll do with the formula, if it can be retrieved."

"Understood, sir. I volunteer to supervise, as well."

"I knew you would," Fury said, smirking. "If this goes well, you may go. For now, let us hope that there will be no corpses to bury in the morning."

* * *

"What the hell was  _that_?" Clint grabbed his radio, ducking behind the door to cover up his garishly yellow costume. "Natasha? Respond?"

There was nothing but noise on the other side, a low droning static that sounded most definitely artificial. Some kind of jamming signal? That meant he was cut off from everyone else too, and he was pretty much the only person in position to deal with the missiles. Great.

"If this is getting through to  _anyone,_ please respond." He tried again. The total silence was discouraging: If not even Natasha could pick up his signal, chances were that nobody could. He'd been sent out to see what he could do about the missiles, complicated as that would be, and now he didn't have anyone to report his findings to. That really only meant one thing: He was on his own here.

"I better get hazard pay for this," he muttered as he grabbed his bow, glancing around the corner. Six guards still stood near the entrance towards whatever lay deep inside the central part of this facility, and he had only a few shots to take them out or they'd be on him like a pack of wild dogs. Without Natasha's backup he couldn't do it without explosive ammunition, and that would alert every A.I.M. operative within a mile. No, he'd have to find another way. "Where's a convenient air duct when you need one?"

There were still six guards, all of them heavily armed. Even with perfect shots, he'd only hit three before they reached him, and that was if they didn't use their ludicrously over-sized rifles. He glanced at his quiver and sighed: He'd have to use  _that_ arrowhead. He only had the one on him, and mostly because he never got to use it. Natasha had given it to him as sort of a joke, a just-in-case, and he'd never hear the end of resorting to using that in an actual fight. Clicking the side of his quiver over to the special round, he grabbed up one of his arrows, drawing it very slowly. "Spread of around five meters, no wind disturbance and barely any arc at this distance... easy peasy," he murmured as he let the shot fly.

Clint was moving before it'd even arrived. Just as two of the guards noticed him and turned their guns towards him, the arrow hit one of them squarely on the chest and a puff of white vapour spread around the entire hallway within a second, bursting out of its canister with such speed that the guards' sight was obscured immediately, and no shots were fired. Thuds resounded as Clint approached, wary of the gas that slowly sank to the ground, heavier than air. When the vapours finally dissipated there was a pile of bodies where it had hit, each of the guards wide-eyed and with their mouths wide open; they hadn't even had time to take a second breath.

"Perhaps I should consider using that more often," Clint mused as he retrieved his arrow and slipped it back into his quiver. The Widow's Kiss would be too degraded by the time any scientist got to it to reconstruct the original formula. "If it's any consolation, I'd have shot you in the head."

None of the horror-struck faces moved a muscle.

"It's been nice seeing you, keep the other guards busy for me, will you?" He slipped through the incredibly thick lead doors as he pulled up his yellow suit. Inside the doors was a long corridor suspended over a pit that went way, way down, with a central column attached to the sides of the vertical tunnel by horizontal struts. Each of them had walkways much like the one he was on, and quite a few were occupied by A.I.M. forces; scientists and engineers in bright yellow suits moved through the hallways at a quick pace while dozens of yellow-clad and heavily armed people ascended using small personnel lifts. In the centre of the column, standing out conspicuously was a brightly glowing energy source. If it was radioactive it was well-shielded as many people walked right past the glowing green shapes without a care. A long and winding spiral staircase ran down the length of the column, and another along the outside of the pit.

"What is this place?" Clint mouthed as he glanced down below. The A.I.M. base was huge: the column went down much further than the rest of the base did, stretching at least ten more floors down into the ground, perhaps even more. "I could really use someone on the radio right about now, guys," Clint tried again on the radio.

This base wasn't the usual military fare. The first few levels were generic enough, he hadn't seen anything weird, but this wasn't like the launch tubes he'd seen before. This one had to be a mile or two deep, a gigantic borehole that he couldn't imagine would be dug for no reason. A.I.M. had taken over the base, that was clear, but what was it for in the first place?

Quickly snapping his bow in its most compact configuration, Clint stuffed the weapon into a small bag he brought with him and walked to the central column without visible concern. His quiver was a bit peculiar even with a cover, but hopefully it wouldn't stand out too much. He didn't have anything that would help him identify himself if anyone asked, but if he looked busy and frazzled he would probably fit right in. Perhaps he could join one of the groups moving downwards, so he could track down the bombs and be done with his part of the mission. If he could disable the warheads the mission would at least be a success, regardless of whatever else happened.

"Here goes nothing," Clint muttered as he passed into another corridor filled with people, joining the end of a long line and worriedly glancing up at the marching A.I.M. forces heading for the surface. He knew Natasha could take care of herself, he'd know her long enough, but he felt bad about just leaving her behind. He shook his head as he focused on the task. Track down the bombs, disable them. Everything else was secondary.

* * *

"Stupid radio," Natasha muttered as she dragged herself up to the next level, evading three guards with relative ease. Climbing up the wall was a difficult feat, but she could easily avoid being spotted, since the corridors were where A.I.M. had concentrated its defensive forces. Quite a few had actually gone up, and Natasha suspected that some people were causing a ruckus up there. She didn't really mind; the sooner she could get topside, the sooner she could face Bullski.

Losing contact with everyone was something that had happened to her before: Failure of the radio aside, jamming a station was hardly a new technology. Since Clint was taking the dangerous role of infiltrating the A.I.M. core facility, she ended up responsible for sabotaging A.I.M.'s defences, and she knew one way to do that. She might not know the suit he was using, the massive green behemoth, but she knew  _Boris._  If she could convince him to stand down, to give up, perhaps she could remove that threat from getting to the others at all.

"Four doses left," she murmured as she counted her last pellets of Widow's Kiss. She had some regular gas, and it would perhaps work on a larger group that didn't have time to find her, but it wouldn't be nearly as quick. She could pop a few and outright kill someone, overdoses tended to do that, but it seemed a waste of her resources. She still had at least fifty bullets left, and she only really needed one to take someone down. Much more efficient. The problem, of course, was that she'd be drawing every eye to her position.

She was on the first level, and nearly at the top. Though heavy plating covered most of the exterior of the base, there were a few places to let the air in, and crawling through them was easy enough: Forty feet straight up in a narrow passage, but there were plenty of places to hold on, and the rust supplied further eroded sections that collapsed at a single good punch, leaving holes behind to grab on to. She heard gunfire from above, a lot of gunfire, and she very carefully looked over the edge.

"Oh, this is just great," she noted, groaning. "We landed in a war zone."

The entire base was swarming with at least a hundred yellow-clad soldiers wielding large rifles, several blasting away into the distance with sharp flashes of energy reminiscent of the Iron Man's repulsors. Two large drones hung in the sky, nearly motionless. Gigantic fiery beams flashed down at the ground, the grass bursting into flame. She couldn't see what they were firing at, but she didn't miss the centrepiece. Standing majestically between the troops was Boris' suit, at least five meters tall, one of its arms mounted with some kind of gigantic weapon that went on well beyond the elbow joint while six massive machine guns were mounted on the underside of the arms, firing into the distance and decimating the trees that stood there.

There was nothing to do but figure out a way to use the chaos to her advantage. Probably they were firing on one of the others: Either the Iron Man, Harry, or most probably the Hulk, who wouldn't go down from a few bullets like this. If she could get close enough, perhaps she could do something. She gingerly moved over towards a tall stockpile of ammunition, trying to see what the target was.

"Where the  _hell_ is your gun?"

Natasha turned with wide eyes to face a dark-skinned vicious looking man who scowled down at her. She hadn't even heard him coming. "You're one of the new ones, aren't ya?" the man barked, glaring. "You all seem like you haven't held a rifle in your life."

"Yes, sir." Natasha said, hoping she'd gotten his assumptions right. The man nodded as he noticed the pistol on Natasha's belt. The S.H.I.E.L.D. symbol wasn't visible, thankfully, but it looked out of place between all these big bulky alternatives.

"Got one after all, then. Brought that yourself, I take it?"

Natasha nodded mutely.

"Come with me," the man muttered. "We've got a few places that need backup, and you're not doing anything useful here. There's two targets west, one north," the man muttered as he grabbed his binoculars. "The north one's inconsequential, we believe. West, though, that's the Iron Man and his buddy, that Magician fellow. Forces have been deployed to both locations, but with their assets so spread out we can't be certain whether or not we are covering all our bases. There could be a few more slipping between the cracks. You, what's your name?"

"Natalie, sir."

"Natalie. Take this one." He pointed at a large anti-aircraft gun that seemed rather rusted and worn out to Natasha. Instead of aiming up it was almost horizontal, and a large shiny barrel had been attached to the underside of the old ones.

"What am I shooting at?"

The tall man frowned as he stared into the distance. "There's a fourth target out there, but we haven't been able to track it yet, just hear it." He turned to her and narrowed his eyes. "If you see green,  _fire._ "

Natasha sighed in relief when the man moved away, and she tried to act busy. There was one thing that immediately caught her attention, though; the radio was working. "They've insulated themselves. Clever." She grabbed the headphone and suddenly a sharp beep came out, like a feedback loop. "What...?"

Natasha moved the receiver closer again and the sound suddenly shot up in pitch near her neck. Attached to the inside of the collar, hidden well in the fabric, was a tiny transceiver. The A.I.M. suit, one she'd taken from a poor guard a few levels down, was wired for internal communication. For a moment she wanted to kick herself; she'd put it on without realizing, and it could have been used to track her location. The fact that she hadn't been probably meant the A.I.M. people responsible for keeping track had other things on their mind, such as an impending attack.

If her own suit was wired for communication, then others probably were too. They might not work well above-ground, as her inability to contact anyone demonstrated, but Clint wasn't above-ground.

She grabbed the radio on the large gun array, wondering how she was going to find the right channel. "Please let this work," she muttered, flipping through a few in quick succession. "You'd better not have ditched the banana suit..."

* * *

The landing was harsh, and Sif barely managed to keep herself from blacking out as she smacked against the ground with enough force to utterly break a normal human. She quickly put a hand under herself and tried to get up just as the plane smashed into the ground with a thunderous explosion, fuel igniting in an instant as a massive cone of fire stretched into the sky. The entire front half detached and slid to a halt a little ways from her, the other half burning merrily in a huge pyre that would serve as a beacon to anyone who meant her harm.

The shock of the attack had been so unexpected that, when they were hit, Sif had only been able to grab hold of her sword, before the plane started falling from the sky and she'd tumbled head over heels towards the front of the plane. Dr. Banner had done the same; one of the parachutes that he'd been sitting next to got loose and slammed forward through to the cockpit, and Sif had only barely managed to catch the other before it did the same.

"I can survive a drop like this!" Sif had yelled, tossing the parachute to the doctor, who looked sick. "You won't!"

Bruce had looked at her with an expression that she couldn't identify. "I don't," he'd said. Then he'd tossed her out of the plane, seconds before the whole thing blew to pieces. With one hand.

The monstrous roar of the Hulk resounded even over A.I.M. gunfire as he smashed through the clearing, wielding an anti-aircraft gun by the barrel and smashing it down on the ground like a gargantuan club. It turned momentarily to Sif before focusing again on the attackers, smashing sideways with his weapon, and crushing half a dozen against it and sending others flying.

"I see that you have found your spirit," Sif said, smiling thinly as the huge creature momentarily looked at her again. She didn't know if those eyes recognized her, but it turned away towards the yellow-clad forces, breathing heavily as it lifted its makeshift club. It roared again, a man jostled free from the gun he was wielding and falling limply to the ground; it'd been ripped right out the ground while in use.

Sif raised her sword of Asgardian manufacture as she inhaled deeply. No broken bones, that was a small blessing. Though her bones were much denser than that of any human, a fall could certainly incapacitate her. A shattered rib wouldn't allow her to fight effectively, and that was needed here. The Hulk leaped across a hill and disappeared from view, leaving Sif alone with half a dozen yellow-clad figures that sighed in relief, turning to their new target.

"Oh, I would not be relieved just yet," Sif commented as she suddenly took off into a sprint, her sword held vertically before her as she dashed to the front of the plane. A few gunshots passed her by entirely, one glancing across her shoulder, then she was upon them, and their terrified stares and sudden fevered reloading did nothing to stop her. One slice of her sword and its victim fell to the ground with a mortal wound, his arm flopping uselessly to the floor as he tried deliriously to grab it before his eyes turned dull. Sif raised the bloodied blade again as the other A.I.M. soldiers suddenly backed away, their guns before them. Sif shook her head, wiping the blade clean. "I am just getting started. You will give me a good fight, won't you? For the All-Father!"

The second went down as quickly as the first, and Sif smiled viciously as she went after the others with a vengeance, her weapon flashing back and forth so quickly that it was almost a blur. If she'd had her dagger there might have been a little more finesse to her assault, but that was hardly what was called for. More approached over the hill, looking dishevelled, probably from a run-in with Bruce, who had disappeared in that direction. Bullets rained down around her and Sif deflected a handful with a quick slash of her blade, much to the consternation of the shooters.

"She's another one! Another  _freak."_

Sif narrowed her eyes just as a huge green form suddenly landed squarely on the man that had spoken. There was a horrifying splat. Bruce was gone again in the next moment, moving towards the distant base with a huge leap, two large trees clasped in his hands. Sif shook her head amusedly as the handful of other A.I.M. soldiers suddenly vanished back into the undergrowth, guns silent.

A pained groan came from behind her, followed by a cough. Sif turned around confusedly, realizing that it wasn't one of the A.I.M. forces - she'd been sure they died - but someone she'd almost forgotten about.

There had been three people in the plane, Sif realized; the pilot was still in there. She turned to the cockpit to help him out of there just as the soldiers that had been firing at her regained their courage and resumed their assault; blocking the first few shots effortlessly, she dashed forward. One slice to the leg, one to the arm, a neat haymaker to the neck. Her sword struck true and though several of their shots hit her, the energy discharges crackled against her skin without effect, and the bullets left little more than welts and small nicks. A.I.M. had clearly not anticipated Asgardians.

"Stay back," Sif barked to the rest of the attackers, who kept a safe distance away from her, their shots going so hopelessly off target that she didn't even bother to react. Sif slowly inched backwards, glancing into the cockpit of the plane as she got alongside it. "Pilot, what is your condition?"

"What-" The man coughed painfully. "What do you...  _think_?" He grabbed his legs, which were wedged painfully under the front end of the cockpit that had buckled inwards. His entire lower body was covered in blood from many serious lacerations. "Looks... like it's my last flight."

"Don't give up," Sif ordered. "The Seidmadr will find us, and he will transport you to a safe location, I am certain of it. He would not be killed by such a fall." She glanced down, frowning. "I would release you from this place, but I do not know if you would survive."

"Tell me something I don't know," the man replied, smiling wryly. He glanced at the wary A.I.M. forces and the small collection of dismembered bodies that lay some distance from the crash site, barely visible from his position. "You're like them, aren't you? I thought... you were a normal, like me."

"A normal?"

"You know, boring," The man snickered as he laboriously raised a hand to his neck and winced. "I think... I got whiplash when we crashed. Suppose I won't have to worry... about it."

"Stay  _back."_ Sif said again as several of the A.I.M. soldiers approached, though the wreckage was blocking their shots, for now. "I will see to it that you make it home alive, human." Sif said, nodding sharply. "I give you my word."

"The word of an angel?" The man laughed. "Oh, that was awful. Sorry. Gallow's humour, I suppose."

"Keep your strength. I will try to signal the Magician, as you call him." She turned to the west, where she'd last seen Harry and Tony. She frowned as she realized that she couldn't carry the entire front end of the plane, and leaving the man behind would be certain death. She didn't have an easy way to reach Harry without radio contact, either. "This is a quandary. I would need to leave to get you help, but I cannot let you alone here, since you would certainly be shot."

"Can't do much more damage than... I already got," the pilot muttered, spitting out a glob of blood. "Never thought... things would end in the pilot's seat. Always figured I'd go forgetful like my dad." He smiled vaguely. "At least I got you all here, didn't I? If you take out these bastards, then I end... on a success."

Sif looked worriedly at the man that was looking glassy-eyed. She'd have to get Harry's attention somehow, but with miles between him and her and the A.I.M. forces encroaching the moment she even moved, there was no good way to do it. In desperation, she looked up at the sky. " _Heimdall_! I require assistance!"

The heavens were silent, of course.

"Heimdall, eh?" The pilot smirked. "Norse myths, isn't it?"

Sif nodded sharply. "He will have heard me, I am certain of it. The distance is great, however. I do not know how fast he can bring help, this far from the Bifrost." She looked at the pilot sadly. "I know little of the medical arts, and my knowledge of humans is even poorer. It has long been my business to kill, not to heal."

"Join the club," the pilot answered softly. "Went to medical school once, for a year. Dropped out, moved over to the military. I..." He coughed repeatedly, and for a moment it seemed like he wouldn't breathe again, but then he succeeded with a wheezing sound. "Ah. S.H.I.E.L.D. was my big break. I..." He shook his head tiredly. "Tell me... Heimdall, Bifrost, it's all real, then?"

"As real as you or I," Sif answered.

"I suppose that's good to know," the man said, smiling slightly. "The talk on the Carrier had me... wondering. So many crazy things going on... My father was into that sort of thing, you know. Mythology, paganism. Glad to know he was right."

Sif nodded, hesitating for a moment. "I will bring word to him of your bravery, should things go badly."

"He's been dead for years, I think I'll do it myself." The man smirked. "Tell the cyclops... that it was an honour, will you? I never got to meet him in person, though I've..." He swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry if it turns out I've done anything to ruin..." He sighed deeply.

"Calm," Sif said, shaking her head. "This is no time for regrets." She looked down at him sadly; she doubted even Odin himself could pull someone back from this close to the end. The senseless death woke a slumbering rage that she hadn't had a use for in eons. "I will bring vengeance to those who did this, in your name."

"Championed by the gods, seems fitting." He stared out the window and his eyes widened in surprise. "Would you look at  _that._ "

A massive fireball seared across the horizon, rising into the sky and blasting smoke like a mushroom cloud, streaks of blue and green intermingled with the red and crackling out. Shapes formed briefly and vanished again in the energy, great spires and creatures.

Sif nodded and smiled, turning back to the pilot. His eyes were still wide open, but they weren't looking at anything anymore. Sif reached over and closed them carefully, lowering her head. "May you find your way to Valhalla, and to the feast everlasting," she hesitated, noticing suddenly the name-tag on his breast pocket, covered in blood. "I will keep my word, Steven Tyler, brave warrior." She closed her eyes briefly.

"There she is! Don't just stand there!" a voice yelled, and Sif looked up as a group of ten to fifteen A.I.M. agents wielding large rifles approached her position. They were firing in the general direction of the plane with a marked lack of precision, though some of the shots still burst through the remains of the windows, scorching the back of the cockpit.

"You will not kill any more. Not today, not ever." Sif said sharply, charging forward as quickly as she could, easily twice the speed any human could over such a distance, her sword swinging before she'd even fully thought about what she'd do. Experience took over, many years of training with the sword, countless hours of honing her skills. The man that had yelled couldn't yell for much longer, and her sword swung around to catch two others in the neck, blood spraying around in wild arcs as several of the remaining attackers started shooting indiscriminately, hitting each other and the surroundings more than their target as Sif slashed out again with pure fury. Two lost the entire front half of their gun to the razor-sharp edge of Asgardian steel, another was suddenly missed the hand that was holding his own.

"She's nuts!" one of the attackers yelled. "Concentrate fire!"

Sif snarled incoherently as several energy blasts smashed into her middle and head in quick succession and she tried to shrug them off, cutting into the enemy forces with such ferocity that even the concentrated blasts were failing to hit accurately. As three more fell, though, the cumulative hits were beginning to take their toll.

"Modulated energy weaponry," Sif said aloud as she backed away, her sword still raised before her. "Where did you get those, I wonder? Not Midgard, I believe. What foul traitors have begun to call this world their home?"

If she expected an answer, she did not receive one; instead, she was struck by another barrage of high-energy blasts, forcing her back towards the crash site, her head spinning. She was seeing double, barely capable of keeping upright and not tripping over her own feet, but her body knew how to compensate, knew how to cut and weave to keep herself alive. Her opponents were amateurs, she'd once taken on all the Warriors Three at once and came out victorious - it was not a fair battle. She'd been in enough battles to keep her cool, though she wasn't sure how much longer she could take those hits. Skill would ultimately lose out against sheer force of numbers.

"A damsel in distress. I believe this is my time to be the knight in shining armour!" Tony dropped down next to Sif with a loud thunk, but he wheezed in pain as he did so, almost collapsing to his knees. Twin repulsors blasted across the attacking A.I.M. forces and they were suddenly at a disadvantage as the energy blasts didn't do anything to the solid block of metal that was Tony's suit. They retreated back towards the hill they'd come from. Tony turned to Sif then and tapped his chestplate.

"Sorry for the delay, suit's a bit banged up on the inside. Should've realized that unbreakable armour has its disadvantages too; it isn't nearly as good at taking impacts. Need to redesign the shock absorption. Can't believe that I'd end up designing stuff explicitly to take advantage of impossible engineering dreams, though." He hesitated. "Sorry, nerding out there. Looked like you could use a little assistance, figured I was here to help."

"I could have used it ten minutes ago," Sif said sharply.

"I was a little busy at the time," Tony admitted. "We were ambushed, actually. Harry's taken off towards the centre of the base, and sent me to fetch the others out here. Green's out there smashing stuff, so he's fine. I couldn't find you so easily, though. What were you up to?"

"I was hiding behind the wreckage," Sif answered, frowning. "I am afraid that Steven Tyler has passed on."

"Who?"

Sif glared. "Our pilot."

Tony faltered, and then nodded slowly. "I'm... sorry." He looked towards the crashed plane and sighed. "I hadn't even thought about him."

"I promised that I would avenge his senseless death."

"Can be arranged," Tony answered. "The centre of the base houses whatever is keeping this force field up, and it's probably where the defences are strongest. What do you say we take it out?"

Sif nodded, then hesitated. "The explosive devices are our first task, the others must wait."

"Same direction, double the action," Tony breathed harshly, rubbing his chest, though it was ineffectual with his suit on. "Really need to get a move on, this is getting pretty uncomfortable." He sighed, firing his repulsors slightly and rising a foot off the ground before they sputtered and he dropped back down. "Flying's a bit risky at the moment, too. Jarvis is making repairs, but it'll take a bit. Asked Harry, but he doesn't even know how they're supposed to work, which is apparently a problem.."

"We shall walk, then." She looked back to the plane a last time. "Someone is here that should not be."

"What do you mean?"

"That," she pointed up. "It is familiar, though I do not know if it is Asgardian in origin. Regardless, I do not think it originated on Midgard, and that is a worrying conclusion. They are much quicker than I had believed possible. Perhaps they were already here."

"They _?"_

"I have warned you before, and I will not repeat myself here. Asgard is not the only world," Sif answered. "We shall talk later. There are lives at stake."

"Fair enough."

* * *

" _Bombarda_!"

The massive machine gun smashed to pieces, shards of razor-sharp metal slashing through the air and embedding themselves in the ground, the walls, and people. The wounded dragged themselves away, keeping their guns firing even though the shots ricocheted harmlessly off Harry's shield spell.

Dozens of A.I.M. agents lay incapacitated around him, flopping on the ground with limbs seemingly made of jelly, with heads so messed up that they probably smelled colours, and some of them sporting a rather spontaneous pair of antlers or tusks that were so heavy that lifting their head was nigh impossible. Spread around them was a veritable massacre of codfish, the only thing that remained of their fancy weapons.

It was an odd realization, really, that a lot of spells that he'd always considered completely pointless or silly were serious dangers in a situation like this. Without a handy wand and a counter-curse or  _Finite_ , it'd take days for the spell to wear off, and Muggles had no defense to begin with. Hexes and cheap tricks like that were a lot more effective than they had any right to be.

Which brought him to his battle spells. Spending half a decade as a working Auror and a few more years covering the theoretical stuff at a desk-job meant he had a small arsenal of powerful curses and charms at his disposal, many of them for capturing dark wizards. Unfortunately, most of them were intended for wizards, who could take a hit rather better than a Muggle usually could. One of his spells, which would smash a person repeatedly into the ground until unconscious, would probably kill most of the people here. A wizard would walk away with a headache.

" _Stupefy_ ," Harry muttered as he knocked half a dozen A.I.M. soldiers unconscious, casually turning their weapons into fish. He could do other transfigurations if he wanted to, but he figured that even if he screwed up, a gun-fish hybrid on dry land wasn't going to do too much. This one time he'd turned a desk into a cat trying to get into a secret compartment, his spell had gone wonky and it'd ended up chasing him around the room with razor-sharp claws while throwing up great amounts of paperwork from inside.

Harry grimaced when he realized that though he was being fairly careful in not murdering people left and right - he really didn't like it much - the A.I.M. forces weren't too careful about friendly fire, and dozens of bodies littered the floor already, most definitely dead. That was the most terrifying aspect of A.I.M so far: They weren't giving up, they weren't surrendering; they barely hesitated before throwing themselves into a confrontation that almost certainly would end in their death. After the first few had sacrificed their very lives in an attempt to take him down, Harry had concluded that they were more than just employees; they were committed to A.I.M. on a level that he could barely understand, fanatics of a different kind. They were like the Death Eaters, relentlessly allied to an idea, but individuality wasn't present at all, even devalued. They were faceless, without identity, their only loyalty to their cause. It was monstrous.

" _Stupefy_!" Harry barked, and the spell knocked out four of the terrorists in one blast, and they collapsed limply to the floor, where they were practically trampled by the next group. Stunning or wounding them didn't seem to matter; they just kept on coming. Flashy explosions lured them in like moths to a flame, and Harry didn't know what to do. This wasn't how people were supposed to act; they were like the proverbial hornet's nest, individuals expendable while guarding the hive.

Tony was elsewhere; Harry'd sent him to get Sif, more so because he was worried that the suit wouldn't keep up with the stronger opposition on this side. Harry himself was a bit shaken up but not hurt, and he'd taken off towards the base to draw fire from A.I.M. while the others regrouped. He'd already seen and heard Bruce, and he was sure that Clint and Natasha were alright, since they were far from the force field when it activated. Whatever it really was, it reminded Harry of the barrier that Dumbledore had conjured into existence within the Ministry of Magic, a solid wall of unrelenting force. It was Muggle instead of Magical, perhaps, but obviously equally risky to cross.

Harry jerked his wand upwards and a handful of A.I.M. soldiers suddenly rose into the air, tumbling end over end; dumping them some distance away with enough force to knock them unconscious. He walked past without a second glance, his eyes focused ahead on a massive figure firing a huge gun in his direction, though the shots went wide when they even got near. Magic could be overpowered, he supposed, if you kept it up long enough he imagined anything could be, but it was hardly going to budge from the potshots that soldiers were taking when he'd absorbed full-on punches from the Hulk without too much of an issue. He'd never really thought about using protective spells against physical objects until he arrived here.

Walking towards the centre of the military base that A.I.M. was using for its own, the huge dull-green form of the suit that Clint had described came into full view. It was easily twice the size of Tony's, but much more heavily armoured.. It would probably be more unwieldy than Tony's version, but the weaponry on it was ridiculous in comparison, with massive guns and ammo supplies attached to every free surface. Its right arm contained two long parallel bars that extended beyond his arm, attached at the back to some kind of large pipe; his other hand wasn't even there, a huge cannon taking its place.

A small contingent of A.I.M. agents approached with heavy weaponry and crossed in between him and the suit. Harry glared at them, fed up with their unrelenting attack, even when they knew they were outgunned. "Get out of the way," he intoned. None of them even hesitated in firing. Harry sighed, grasping his wand tightly as he swiped it down. The Elder Wand almost eagerly fired off the spell he'd had in mind, and a massive explosion of red, green and blue burst high into the sky, launching the soldiers outwards, and they flailed like ragdolls as the force of the push broke all their limbs. One of them landed on a roof, two others skidded to a halt a few dozen feet away. Harry ignored them, stifling any remorse he might have had. They were alive, and that had to be enough. He was reminded of Dobby, suddenly, and a smile appeared on his face.  _Dobby never meant to kill! Dobby only meant to maim, or seriously injure._  Right now he had to end this, and get everyone back alive.

In the wake of the explosion, A.I.M. forces backed up, and Harry walked forward unimpeded. He glared up at the shining eyes of the giant suit as it stared down on him dispassionately. Harry glanced around, and shrugged. "If you attack again, so will I."

"You think you can take all of us?" The suit sounded very tinny and artificial, though Harry knew there was a pilot inside.

"You're clearly a mercenary," Harry argued. "You're here for the money, aren't you? What kind of money will be left if these people are succesful and the United States goes up in flames? Do you think the cash you get will be worth the paper it's printed on?" He shook his head tiredly. "Perhaps you should reconsider, Mr. Bullski."

The suit shifted forward, and Harry almost stepped back but caught himself in time. He couldn't afford to look hesitant now. " _How do you know that name?"_ Boris barked.

"Ah, there's the snag, isn't it?" Harry said. Clearly force wasn't going to convince these people of much. There were other things he could do, though, that would make them even more nervous. He smiled at the suit, shrugging. "You are aware of my identity, I'm sure. You've watched the news the same as anyone, I'm sure, and given the fancy suit, I bet you've kept informed on the Iron Man."

"What of it?"

"Then you must know what I do, what kind of skills I have, you've seen the pictures and videos that are all across the media. I'm sure A.I.M. armed you with the best weapons they have to try and take me down." Harry smiled as Bullski lowered his cannon arm. "What A.I.M. doesn't know, and what they really should, is that my skills go quite far beyond just fire and brimstone and all that." He gestured behind him lazily. "It's flashy, but you can do the same, can't you? No, my skills go a bit further than that." He tapped his head and smirked. Listening in on Fury had never been this helpful. "Tell me about  _Leningrad_ , Mr. Bullski," he added, raising an eyebrow. "That is where you almost died, is it not? Your thoughts are an open book, I'm afraid."

"My…  _thoughts_?"

Harry smiled bitterly. "Oh, yes. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Mr. Bullski... but those who have mastered the art of Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. I am such a master." He wasn't, and he'd need eye contact to even get a good shot at using his rather blunt-force excuse for mind reading, but Bullski didn't have to know that. He tried not to shiver at who he was quoting. "Your secrets are mine to know, Boris. Can I call you that?"

"That's impossible!"

"Is it?" Harry raised his hand, focusing on it intently. A flame flickered to life in his palm and he nodded in satisfaction. "Pyrokinesis, I am told it's called. An impossibility, by any reasonable Muggle's standard. Yet... here I am." He shook his hand, dousing the flame before he could burn himself. Wandless magic was possible, with effort, but it was hardly practical unless you were on Dumbledore's lofty level. "I am quite aware that A.I.M. is keeping secrets, even from you, and I intend to find out what they are. I will let you leave with your life and freedom, if you let me pass by unimpeded. I could even hide you from A.I.M. if that is your wish."

Bullski seemed to hesitate. "What are you here for?"

"I'm here to end a threat," Harry said simply. "Will you stand down?"

The blast was intense and Harry slammed down on his back despite his protective spells, the breath knocked out of him as he bounced against across the concrete. The air reverberated as if a massive gong had been struck, and Harry winced as he made his way upright. Something had hit his Shield Charm, something very powerful, but he had no idea what. Glancing at Bullski he found the suit's right arm glowing red, the massive gun mounted on it smoking slightly. Just then it fired again, and Harry didn't even have time to register that before the shell blasted into the soil and cut right through, shredding everything in its path. His Shield Charm could take a lot, but blasts of that magnitude would pummel through sooner or later, and he was pretty sure he'd be a fine mist if it ever got a direct hit. A blast of compressed air smacked against his shield and Harry was only barely capable of keeping upright as several A.I.M. soldiers collapsed soundlessly to the ground, blood dripping from their ears and noses.

Harry got to his feet, sighing. "I suppose the answer is no."

* * *

"He's got a  _rail gun,"_  Natasha muttered in amazement as the suit fired, propelling a shell at such incredible velocities that it blasted apart the soil and everything else in its path in a storm of destruction. This type of gun was in development, she knew - S.H.I.E.L.D. had a few experimental ones in use - but nothing that was this effective. A portable rail gun was possible, but it was years away. It was like the force field above her and the bombs far below; A.I.M. had been skipping ahead in weapon development at such an absurd speed that she could barely grasp it. Between the appearance of people like Banner, Stark, and Harry, and now terrorist groups on their level, it seemed like things were coming apart at the seams. Like the world was changing, and she was swept along, one of the few who saw the vanguards of that transformation.

She climbed down from the gun array she'd been operating, her role as an A.I.M. recruit nearly forgotten. Whatever they did to recruits, here, she didn't really want to know; the first-timers seemed hesitant and careful, but everyone who'd been here for a longer period moved like they were the Terminator, heedless of any dangers. It was like they were brainwashed, and she feared that it might just be what was going on. Personality override was possible, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had extensive files on Soviet experiments in the area. She'd almost been subjected to the process herself, long ago. A.I.M. seemed to be drawing from every modern weapons branch in the world and united them, and that was a terrifying thought. With the rest of their technological superiority, though, she wouldn't really be surprised.

The sonic boom of the rail gun's shells almost deafened her, even from straight across the camp. A.I.M. soldiers put on protective headgear or moved behind he larger guns and shield plating, and few dared to get too close to Boris' suit, apparently aware of the danger of the shock waves that his weapon generated. It truly was a monster; dozens of dead bodies lay around the suit, people who were too slow in getting away, caught in the surprise firing of the main gun. Stealing one from a passing guard was easy enough and she quickly moved over towards the fight, wary of getting too close. She'd drawn both her pistols and though she knew they wouldn't be of much use against the suit, there were other uses. For one, unexploded shells littered the ground, as did splashes of flammable oil. A good spark could do it...

The suit was about to fire its third round just as Natasha managed to get to its side. It looked in many ways like the Iron Man, though it had massive armoured shoulder sections, thick armour across all its surfaces, and a head that seemed to be perpetually frowning, with barely a hint of eye slits at all, though pinpoints of yellow light could be seen from the darkened groove where the eyes should be. She looked for weak points, scanning the surface for any imperfections, any structural flaws, but it seemed heavily insulated and protected against attack.

Something massive and black appeared in the sky, then. For a moment she had no idea what it was, as it descended towards her at astonishing speed. An entire gun arry like the one she'd been manning, at least ten tons or more, smacked right into Boris' suit and bounced off, crumpled and deformed. He flinched back from the hit and raised his arms protectively to keep the damage limited, though a large chunk of armour had been ripped right off his chestplate. Under it, it seemed, was just another layer of armour. The falling gun was followed by a roaring Hulk who grabbed his projectile by the gun barrels and ripped it in half with barely any effort, its vicious glare focused on the other green giant. The large piece of broken metal smashed into the head of Boris' suit again and again, and the eyes flickered for a moment as metal bent and servos exploded from the sheer force of the hit. The man's cannon-equipped hand came up to stop the next blast, and then he fired his rail gun.

The Hulk was blasted off his feet with a thunderous explosion, a huge gash ripped right through his side by the fast-moving projectile as blood gushed out onto the ground and pooled on the concrete. It cried in pain, pulling itself up with a tortured expression which instantly turned to anger, to bloodthirsty rage. The wound closed almost the moment it had formed, healing over without a scar in the instant it took the suit to reload, and the Hulk was right on top of Boris again, smashing the massive vehicle and trying to get a grip on one of its arms. His target was deceptively quick and agile for its size, like the Hulk itself, and the grappling continued for a few moments without a clear victor. Harry suddenly joined the fight again with a lance of white magic that sliced right through one of Boris' arms and out the other side, though the suit didn't even seem to notice the hit.

Harry watched the carnage as the two green monsters battled with surprisingly little concern, waving his magic wand casually; Natasha didn't know how he could stay on his feet, much less fire off potshots, but judging from the man's smile, he was actually enjoying himself. Temporarily ignored in favour of the more present threat, Harry seemed to be contemplating something, glancing in her direction once, though his eyes skimmed right past. He hesitated in casting other spells, and she figured she knew why; with the Hulk right there, he could hit his friend. The Hulk could take it, sure, but what if it turned around and found a new target?

"What the hell am I doing," Natasha muttered as she looked around, realizing that she was the only one in A.I.M. gear anywhere near the fight, the rest having retreated when the Hulk showed up. It seemed that someone had finally figured out that throwing your forces away wasn't the best tactic, but she'd not been listening to any orders. She could see why; the Hulk was a force of nature, and the suit that Boris was using clearly had a lot of power, if it could take hits from it and remain standing. Whatever energy source that suit used had to have been hidden deep inside. Compared to the footage she'd seen of the fight in L.A. this thing was much more capable and effective, with many of the weak points of the previous design fixed. It was too fast, again. Too damn quick.

" _Natasha!"_

"Harry?" She grabbed her radio, eyes wide. "I thought the radio was out!"

"We have short-range only," Harry said tiredly, as he warily stepped back from the fighting titans. "I found out when Tony and I landed near each other and could communicate, but it vanished when we went separate ways." He paused. "I know where you are, and I could use a little help. That gun of his is too powerful; if I don't keep reapplying my protective spells, he's going to punch through with one of them. Now, I'm sure that the Hulk will bash through his armour eventually, but a hit from that gun of his to anything vital, and I don't think even the big guy's getting up. I need about ten or twenty seconds of safety from the big gun when the suit's focused on me."

"I can do that." Natasha narrowed her eyes at the back of Boris' suit. "Where are the others? Are they alright?"

"Tony's getting Sif. Hawkeye's still in the base, I suppose. You'd know better than me."

"I spoke to him. He's finishing the mission," Natasha confirmed. "Last I heard he had gotten down to some kind of shaft that goes a mile or two down, and the bombs were kept there, apparently. It does mean that the bombs are probably even bigger than we anticipated, given the amount of metal and such that was piled on top of the radioactive material that S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't take into account."

"Can he do it? Can he shut the missiles down?"

"Of course. Clint's the only one that's close enough to stop those missiles, and he's got the skills to pull it off. If we can knock out Boris and divert A.I.M.'s attention to us, he has a better shot at it."

"Right, let's stay with the present moment. I hear that you know  _this_ guy, Bullski." Harry didn't say anything for a moment, then returned. "Can you tell me something that this Boris fellow thinks nobody knows? Some secret?"

Natasha blinked. "Fury told you, eh? Anyway, I know a few things. Why would you need them?"

"Distraction," Harry said simply. "It'll buy you a second or two. Don't worry about it, I'll explain later. Quick, it'll give you the time to hamstring him without getting his attention."

"Right." Natasha frowned. "Leningrad. That's your best bet, it's the last time we met. His sister went missing there. We didn't find out what happened there until years later, so I bet you that he doesn't expect anyone to know."

"That'll work. Thanks. Get ready to do whatever you can."

"Will do." She raised her guns, aiming at the back of the rail gun where it was attached to a long pipe that supplied ammunition from a heavily armoured box on the suit's back. It too was armoured, but if she hit it right on the end... Nervously she focused on firing straight, thinking back to many hours in the training rooms on the Helicarrier, firing her pistols with pinpoint precision.

She didn't have to wait long.

"You can't know that!" Boris exclaimed, smashing the Hulk aside when he tried to grab the suit's arms again, but the suit turned to Harry instead. "You can't do this! That's not…!" He stepped back, and Natasha took the shot.

The bullets tore neatly through the underside of the rail gun, detaching the ammo belt entirely as the metal was blasted into pieces and rained down to the ground. The attachment had been much looser than it had seemed, since flexibility was a must, or the giant gun would stall constantly. Natasha smiled victoriously as the remains of the ammo supply system flopped uselessly down the suit's back.

A moment later, when A.I.M. forces understood what had happened, gunfire was concentrated on Natasha's position. She had to duck away towards the suit and Harry to avoid getting hit in the back. She sighed in relief, even though she was uncomfortably close to the action, now.

Harry fired his most powerful cutting curse, slashing a massive tear into the suit's shoulder area, dangerously close to the neck. A much more innocent-looking charm followed it, and for a moment it did nothing; then the entire shoulder pad that had been neatly cut off turned to sand, trickling down his shoulder to the ground. It didn't do serious damage, but that had never been the intent; the suit focused on Harry instead of Bruce for a moment, and fired.

The gun stalled. Boris froze, glancing at his weapon in consternation. Harry fired his spell, a purplish little thing that looked decidedly more innocent than it was. The entire rail gun changed quite spontaneously into a four-meter long eel and flopped harmlessly off the suit's shoulder to the ground, twitching on the ground for a few seconds as it gasped for air. Natasha stared in wonder as Boris did the same.

"What the…"

The question was cut short when Bruce suddenly surged forward again, taking advantage of being ignored, and grabbed the suit's arm. In a single unbelievable move Bruce pulled the entire multi-ton monster off its feet and into the air, briefly holding it over himself, then slammed it down onto the ground with a deafening thud, pulverizing the concrete as huge clouds of smoke billowed all around. The Hulk stepped back and grabbed one of the suit's legs, dragging the suit along for another smashing. "Hulk  _smash!"_ It bellowed as he howled in rage, flipping the entire suit head over heels into the air, and it briefly seemed frozen in mid-flight, sparks flying from every joint as it thudded to the ground once more.

"That's  _enough,"_  Boris barked through his speakers, and the suit's arms and legs burst alight with new life, repulsors firing with such intensity that the entire thing rose into the sky with surprising grace, its cannon arms focused on the one who'd smashed most of the armour into pulp, so that spidery cracks ran all across the surface and bits and pieces fell off.

"Well, I see the battle station is fully operational."

Natasha turned to find Tony limping towards her, Sif closely behind him. The A.I.M. forces were holding their fire and it wasn't hard to tell why as both the Iron Man suit and Sif's blade were covered in blood, and probably not their own.

Tony winced as he stretched his arms. "Did we miss anything exciting? Besides the biggest fish I've ever seen, which is looking incredibly delicious right now?" He eyed the eel and smiled. "He's up to  _that_  again, is he?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "What happened to you two?"

"We fell out of the sky. Got better." He looked at the suit Boris was wearing and frowned. "Someone built a knock-off,  _again_. Feels like I should sue for copyright infringement or something. What is it made of, titanium? That's so lame, it's not even a neat amalgam like my own. Couldn't come up with something creative, could they?"

"Shut up, Stark," Natasha muttered. She glanced at him worriedly when she noticed that the blood covering his leg wasn't dried. "This... it's seeping from in between your armour plates," she said in shock. "Are you  _bleeding_ in there?"

"Yeah, think I sort of impaled my leg, and I've got a whole bunch of lacerations that'll probably scar," Tony admitted. "A piece of the suit came loose and probably went straight through."

"…And you're still walking?"

"The suit's keeping me stable and supported," Tony said simply. "If I rest or try and remove the armour I'll probably collapse or bleed out. Without the suit, I'd be dead." He smiled slightly. "Not the first time it's my lifeline. Feels familiar."

"You're crazy."

"Eh, it's a hobby." He turned towards Harry and frowned. The wizard looked up at the huge suit warily, protective spells engaged as he glanced towards his pouch. He didn't have his broom to rely on in the middle of the fight, which limited his options. Furthermore, he was limping along a bit, and breathing heavily. "He looks worse than when I left him, earlier."

"He got shot by a rail gun. A bunch of times," Natasha said dryly, pointing at the trampled eel on the ground which had been joined by two codfishes that had formerly been machine guns mounted to the suit's shoulders. "He's got a thing about turning stuff into fish."

"Yeah. I should probably make a note of this. Let me know if he ever multiplies some bread, would you? Walking on water too, for that matter." Tony smirked. "Anyway, if you are here, where the hell is Legolas?"

* * *

"He can  _fly_. I should really have seen that coming," Harry said to himself, sighing. "Perfect, just when I broke my Firebolt." Even if he could repair it - and he probably could, with the Elder Wand - he had no clue how well it'd fly at this point, and he had nobody around to fix the enchantments. It seemed, unfortunately, that it was going to be a museum piece. He had another broom, one that he hadn't even unpacked yet, but that seemed equally useless in mid-battle. Not for the first time he wondered how Voldemort and Snape had taken to the sky without their brooms at all. They had seemingly violated a rule of magic that he'd assumed was universal since his first years at Hogwarts. His books probably didn't mention it - he doubted it - but he decided that he would definitely look through them for some tips.

The Hulk's leaping punch smashed into Boris' suit and it was forced to swerve sideways, but the next barrage of missiles from the behemoth thundered across the Hulk's skin with such force that the next attack missed entirely, and the green giant fell, landing with a thundering crash onto the concrete of the base. It immediately dropped through the first floor which gave way under the sudden force. Boris turned to Harry, its next target.

"Need a little help there, Merlin?"

"Tony, it's good to see you're still kicking," Harry said, smiling. "That thing's a lot faster than it has any right to be, honestly. I tried hitting it with more transfiguration spells, but the big pieces are welded together, they won't take. He's figured out how to avoid curses, too." He grimaced. Though he was decent at Transfiguration, he'd never taken to it like Hermione or Dumbledore, who could do things he could barely imagine. The Elder Wand could only amplify his skills so much.

"I'll see what I can do." Tony activated his repulsors and rose into the sky very slowly. The engines remained stable for the first time since the crash and he smiled victoriously as he closed his faceplate. "I can divert attention while you figure something out. Here, you can use this." He pressed something into Harry's hand as he rose off the ground, smirking.

" _Spectral analysis suggests..."_

"Yes, yes, I know, he's all titanium. Trite and unoriginal. The Titanium Man, seriously? That doesn't even sound cool." Tony rolled his eyes as he turned to Boris. "Hey, big green." He hesitated. "The enemy one, I mean. Do you really want to do this? Facing Iron Man and the Magician is bad enough, but when the Hulk crawls out of that hole again..."

There was no answer; the suit fired its machine guns and Tony only barely avoided the crossfire as he suddenly accelerated upwards on his repulsors, rising smoothly to the other's level. He listened briefly to the chatter on his radio before nodding and turning to Boris.

"That wasn't very  _nice_ , was it? Let's try this again. Your suit's pretty neat, I admit, but it's not as good as this one. For one, it flies like a rock, and is about as quick as one. I could fly three laps around you before you even got close."

Tony dodged aside as machine guns locked down on his position. "Secondly, you lost your edge when you lost your big ol' rail gun. Seems your mass driver's been reduced to a nice dinner for twenty or so." He glanced at the eel and smirked.

"Lastly, of course, the one who is flying definitely makes a difference. You see, you might be flying the Titanium Man, and that's all well and good. I'm different, though. You see - it's not the suit that makes me stronger than you." He tapped his shoulder; one of the two was dark now, without an arc reactor. "I'm simply cleverer than you."

Boris snorted. "You talk too much."

"Well, you listened.  _Now_."

Sif threw with all the force she could. A small shining object rocketed upwards towards the Titanium Man in a smooth arc, and for a moment it hung suspended next to the suit, just long enough for the tell-tale blue glow to become , Natasha fired.

" _Protego_!" Harry barked, aiming right at Boris. The bubble-like field popped into existence only a moment after the shot was taken and the first tongue of fire burst from the miniature reactor, then it blew up in a magnificently bright flash that ricocheted back from the protective spell towards the suit.

"That's how we do it!" Tony exclaimed as the suit sagged, its lights flickering; much of the front half was ripped clean off, and the man inside was exposed, sweat beading on his face as he gazed wide-eyed at the sudden hole that had been burned right through his armour. Harry removed his protective spells and levitated the suit towards the ground as it sputtered to a halt, its power failing. "This seems off," Tony said suddenly. "No radiation? No Gamma leak at all?"

"I won't tell you anything," Boris said feverishly from inside the suit. "You won't take me alive!"

A shot resounded, short and sharp. Boris slumped forward, blood flowing from his forehead, and the entire suit collapsed to the ground in a heap of scraps. A tall bald man in a neat business suit casually put away his weapon, some kind of modified gun that many of the A.I.M. forces were using. He shook his head in disappointment as he stepped closer.

"No, they will most certainly not," the shooter said lightly, looking sadly on the corpse in the titanium suit. "Such a waste, he was a capable mercenary. In a few months he might have seen things our way, even, and embraced the future."

Tony landed next to Harry as Sif and Natasha flanked them. "Who the hell are you?"

The man shrugged lightly, looking disinterestedly over the wrecked armour. "I see that you have quite the penchant for destruction, even now. I should have guessed that, with your history. War and violence and death, barely a day of peace." He smirked at Tony. "Isn't that right, Mr. Stark?"

"You killed one of your own! Such a dishonourable act cannot be forgiven," Sif exclaimed, brandishing her sword. "You are the one behind all of this, are you not? The one I'm sworn to kill."

"Asgard," the man spat, shaking his bald head. "Your interference will make no difference here. Your pathetic race will soon be nothing but a bad memory." He glanced at Harry then, and smiled. "As for you... Your kind should have remained  _extinct._ I do not know where you were hiding, but it was a mistake to leave it."

"I'm calling it, this one's definitely an alien," Tony muttered.

"So,  _you_  are behind all this?" Harry said, glancing at Sif. "What are you trying to accomplish here by controlling these people? Many died, and for what?" Harry asked, glancing to the many yellow-clad bodies that littered the ground. Most of them were probably the Hulk's doing as they mindlessly ran to their deaths. He was pretty sure he hadn't killed anyone, at least.

"Controlling? Oh, you give me too much credit. No, I merely... nudged them in the right direction. Their brainwashing techniques are already quite advanced on their own, in fact." The man smiled. "You may call me Tarleton. George Tarleton. I did not create Advanced Idea Mechanics, or change how they function. I've merely... altered their target, shall we say. In a few years they would have done this anyway, they would have had all this equipment. I merely sped up their progress a little." He shook his head and glanced at Tony with a knowing look. "With the continent of America at war with itself and everyone else, with the entire world caught up in strife, who will be around to stop  _us_?"

" _We_  will," Tony answered sharply.

Tarleton seemed amused. "You? Tony Stark, hedonistic man-child with more money than he has any use for and an attachment to fancy toys? Sif of Asgard, gifted only in wielding a piece of metal like barbarians of old? Natasha Romanoff, a spy who let more people die than most of you have even met?" He turned to Harry, then. "Or perhaps you refer to a the last of a race that was murdered to the man, all within a single year?" He waved a hand over his shoulder. "Him, perhaps? The beast?"

"Yes, all of the above," Tony said dryly. "You pissed off all of them, and I know they're all just as eager as I am to knock some teeth in for what you've been doing here. Do you have a problem with that?"

"I'd like to see you try."

"Fair enough. You might want to duck."

"What?"

The arrow smacked into his back with such force that Tarleton was propelled forward, falling on his face. Tony looked up in amazement at the bedraggled-looking Clint that was wearing a worn-out yellow jumpsuit, his bow clasped in his hands tightly, as Harry stepped forward.

"You missed one," Clint announced smiling. "Did you forget about me? Such a  _pity_ , isn't it?" He smiled at Natasha, nodding. "Seems I'm not a moment too soon." he frowned then. "I think the hostages are somewhere else - I haven't been able to find a hint of their location, even though they've  _definitely_  been here. All their passports and other personal items were stored below."

"You broke into there, too?" Natasha smiled. "I take it you've..."

A rattling sound suddenly erupted from Tarleton's form and he slowly rose to his feet again, carelessly pulling the arrow from his back in an unnaturally agile movement that should have broken his arm. He looked at the projectile in amusement. "And here I thought that  _guns_ were primitive." He chuckled once more, and Harry realized the rattling sound was  _laughing._ The man turned around, exposing his back to Harry and the others, but he seemed unconcerned.

"The arrow went in, went through," Clint said warily. "How the hell did you survive that hit? What  _are_ you?"

"Something beyond your comprehension,"Tarleton answered simply, dusting off his suit. "If you attack me again, you solve nothing. A mere arrow will not kill one such as I." The Hulk broke through from below the concrete, hoisting himself back up to ground level. Tarleton smiled as he shook his head. "It seems that you are all here now. You will make good witnesses to the end of your era, don't you think?" He pointed up. "Caught as you are, you will be powerless to stop the destruction of all that you hold dear. The only people who had potential, and they're all locked in here, together." He smiled. "You walked so easily into the open maw of death."

Clint snorted. "Your bombs are gone, creep. I'm afraid that you are a dog without teeth, now."

"Ah, that is what you were doing down in the pit? What a bother, I will have to reprimand the security forces." Tarleton shook his head slowly. "I trust that you were successful in disarming them?" He paused smiling. "All four of them?"

Clint froze.

"Ah,I believe that you will have little to go home to. Such a pity. It will be interesting to see who will take advantage of the power lacuna, don't you agree?"

"The fourth signal wasn't the suit," Tony breathed suddenly. "It was all a set-up from the start. Capture S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most powerful behind this force field, and launch an attack while nobody's home to prevent it.  _Crap._ " He turned to Harry. "Would a Portkey work?"

"Portkey to  _where?_ " Harry asked rhretorically. "Unless I know where the attack is going..."

"You are not from Midgard, are you?" Sif asked suddenly. "You're wearing that skin, but..."

"Oh, don't worry, Asgard will fall as well," Tarleton retorted, raising an eyebrow. "We are nothing if not patient. The seeds are sown, the traitors are hidden well. That world will fall like any other, and sacrificed on the pyre. Your race will die like your allies before you."

"What are you? Kree? Chitauri?"

Tarleton laughed, turning away. "When Midgard falls, when your last tentative ally dies in a great conflagration, who will you fall back on, Asgardian? Who will keep the torch burning? We both know that your great king grows weary, that his power wanes. Who would step in his place? His sons are unfit, his lieutenants wooden and set in their ways. None have the skill to maintain unity, and without it you will be  _devoured._ "

"Are we just going to let him monologue us to death?" Tony whispered. "He's the biggest ham I've ever seen, I swear."

"We need to get the force field out of the way," Harry whispered back. "We can't fly through it, but I bet a missile can. It has to be maintained from the inside, somewhere." He tapped his radio surreptitiously. "Natasha, Hawkeye, get that field down. If this guy won't die, we can at least keep him busy."

"I can hear you, you know," Tarleton said casually as he glanced at Harry. "Whispering won't help you. Plotting and planning even when you are so helplessly outmatched is no more helpful than lighting a fire when you are submerged in water."

Harry noted the quick departure of Natasha and Clint with slight relief. Tarleton merely smiled, as if he was completely unconcerned about anything that was going on, and Harry had the urge to hex him just for that smarmy grin. "I don't know what your big idea is, and I really don't care. It's going no further than here."

"Really? Such ferocity. Would you still fight for these people if you knew what they'd done to your people?" Tarleton asked rhetorically. "Asgard is no ally of yours either, you know. No, they will let you in and then smother you, murder you in your sleep for the danger that you pose to them. That is what happened to all their allies."

"You  _lie,"_ Sif snapped.

"It doesn't matter what you believe, one way or the other." He raised his hand, and alarms began blaring all over the base as dozens of yellow-clad figures poured out from their hiding places, their weapons aimed. He turned around, casually stepping away just as hundreds swarmed into view.

" _Launch in T-Minus five minutes. Doors sealed,"_ a feminine announced.

Tarleton raised an eyebrow. "I had intended this for the centre of New York, but I think there is a more suitable place to put it, don't you agree?" he smirked.

Harry clenched his fists. "Tony - get the missile." He shook his head as he raised his wand to Tarleton. "I will take care of  _this._ "

Repulsors blazed to life. "Absolutely. Jarvis, I want contact with home the moment that we can reestablish a connection."

" _Launch in T-Minus four minutes, thirty seconds."_


	24. Peaks and Pitfalls

" _T-Minus four minutes, thirty seconds."_

"Ah, such music to my ears," Tarleton said, still smiling. "Do you feel the rumble? The very ground shaking beneath your feet as the behemoth prepares to fly? By month's end, little will remain of much-lauded international treaties."

Harry sniffed, glaring at Tarleton as A.I.M. forces began to encroach on him, their weapons trained and poised to fire. Before they could get ready to unleash a barrage, the Hulk sped in their direction, throwing dozens of them off their feet; Harry put them out of his mind for the moment.

"You are very fond of talking, aren't you?" Harry asked at last, shaking his head tiredly. "You're not the first foe I've fought that likes yapping more than actually fighting. It didn't work out for him."

Tarleton smiled thinly. "Ah, but I have no reason to fear you, do I? My words cannot change what will inevitably happen." He put his hands in his pockets lazily.

Harry cast a body-bind with barely a thought, and Tarleton easily intercepted the spell with his gun. The charm simply vanished in a shower of sparks. Harry stood transfixed for a moment at the incredible speed with which the man had moved; his hand had been at his side one moment, raised to effortlessly block his spell the next, as if he'd skipped the intervening positions entirely. It was true that solid objects could stop spells, sometimes, but how had Tarleton known that? How had he reacted  _that_ quickly?

"Can't we just blow his head off?" Tony muttered as he charged his repulsors. "We have bigger fish to fry. The nice lady keeps pointing it out, in case you didn't notice." He glanced towards the centre of the base with a grimace. "Burning through all that metal would take far longer than the time we have, especially if the missile is somewhere deep inside. I'd rather we stopped it before it launches."

"I know," Harry answered softly. He twisted the Elder Wand sideways, and the ground suddenly gave way under Tarleton. The man sank down to his knees before Harry cancelled the spell, and it solidified around the man's legs, the ripples that his submersion had caused freezing solid once more. Whatever Harry had expected, it didn't include Tarleton simply remaiing motionless with that smile on his face, his arms crossed as he raised an amused eyebrow at his predicament. "Pathetic."

"Stop the launch," Harry urged sharply. The countdown echoed in the background, and Harry tried not to focus on the few minutes that were left. "If that missile flies, you  _will_  die. I can forgive a lot of things, but not – not something like that."

"You wouldn't kill me," Tarleton said lazily. "You don't have the courage for it. I've seen you sparing soldiers, knocking them unconscious when you could have a clean kill. You don't have it in you, do you? You're a pacifist on the warpath. A pathetic hope for a pathetic race."

Harry stilled. "You misunderstand something crucial," he said, frowning. "I refrained from killing those people because they weren't a threat to me. I don't care for killing, I admit. However, I am not always so mild-mannered. To those who would gladly murder thousands, I can be quite ruthless." Harry glared at Tarleton as he stepped closer. "Look into my eyes: You know I'm being truthful."

It had been years since he'd used this magic, years since he'd even considered it. With the countdown ticking away, with the force field still on, he didn't have a choice. Legilimency. With a viciousness that made him uncomfortable he tore into the man's mind, obliterating whatever flimsy defenses there might have been with the force of his intent. It wasn't the soothing, barely noticeable Legilimency that Dumbledore could use, nor the quick and forceful push of Snape's experienced techniques. What he did was raw, unfettered, brutal. He needed to stop the missile, and all his concentration was bent on that goal. The rest didn't matter.

"Uh..." Tony said hesitantly. "I'll leave you to the intense staring contest, then?"

Tarleton tried to say something, probably a smug remark. The instant that Harry made the connection, though, the grin was wiped off his face. For a moment, the man grimaced, caught somewhere between fear and confusion, then the pain started. The man screamed at last, unable to tear his eyes away from Harry's. He tried to, of course, but his muscles wouldn't obey. Harry stepped forward, grasping the man by the neck before he collapsed to the ground, his eyes suddenly seeming unfathomably cruel, pitiless. Tarleton's gun fell out of twitching fingers. Harry focused on finding what he needed, to the exclusion of everything else. There was time enough to interrogate the man later. Right now he had to stop that bomb.

Distantly, Harry could hear Tony saying something - yelling something, even. He couldn't pay attention to it now; if he stopped, he'd never have the courage to start again. So he dug deeper.

Tarleton's memories were jumbled, his thoughts confused, but Harry didn't care about that. He'd never learned the intricate forms of Legilimency that couldn't be detected. He had never really wanted to learn those in the first place. He didn't want people worrying he'd just go and do  _this_  without their knowledge.

Harry felt vaguely surprised: Tarleton was as human as anyone. He was different, in a way, but Harry didn't know how – perhaps it was more like Bruce, like there were two sides to him. The Hulk had weird, disjointed thoughts, like it was something  _else._  He couldn't imagine an extraterrestrial being would be any different in that regard. Tarleton's thoughts were slippery, but definitely human. Very human.

Tarleton hadn't expected a Legilimens, that much was for sure. Whoever he was, whoever sent him, he'd come to this meeting with the conviction that he was safe from Harry's magic, or at the very least protected. He'd come without fear, staring Harry in the eyes without any care. He'd played his cards, had set his missile to launch, and even then he hadn't stopped looking on with those sharp eyes. He'd known about Seidhr, about wizards, but his thoughts were an open book, effectively unprotected. Why? Who would make such a mistake, if they knew so much?

Memories flashed by him, crystallizing for only a moment before vanishing again. A boy standing on a street corner, smoke spiralling into the air behind him from a building that was ablaze.

A chamber with cold, white lights, looked over by men and women with masks over their faces.

Stars, endless arrays of beautiful stars stretched out across the sky, like gossamer ribbons.

A carving of a bearded and crowned wizard wielding a staff, fire and lightning bursting from the tip. He was facing off against another, a man almost half again his size with a massive fist enclosed in a golden glove.

Fear like even a Dementor couldn't cause, endless terror as blackness stretched out in all directions, and unseen things clawed up at him from that pit.

Icy plains, cold streams, impossible mountains. There she stood, turned away, a dark shroud covering her face.  _Death._

Pain, the pain of being torn apart, torn apart by wolves, by power, stripped to the bone, atom by atom.

Then, like a calm in the storm, the endless flurry of memories made way for one other. An important one, an infinitely important one. The Cube stole his breath away. Twisting slowly in space, its facets gleamed in distant starlight, blue threads of power leaking from within. A galaxy, a universe, seemed to be trapped inside, and it felt like all the wonder of existence tied up in one place. It was wondrous, beautiful. The memory vanished as it had come, and Harry felt a sudden pang of loss. If just a memory could do  _that,_  what would the real thing be like? He'd seen it before, somewhere. Did S.H.I.E.L.D. have it?

A face, a terrible face, suddenly filled his entire vision. Harry flinched away from the memory, rejecting it. Another came in its place, the friendly visage of a woman. He didn't recognize her, but she seemed familiar.

Tarleton had stopped screaming, hanging limply against his captor's arm. Harry couldn't find pity for the would-be mass-murderer. He dug deeper, and a shudder ran through the man's body. He saw Tarleton inspecting three bombs, three missiles that could destroy a city. Each of them was armed and ready for launch. Then, with some difficulty, Harry found out about the fourth.

He could feel Tarleton feebly struggling against the attack, but Harry had too much need of the information to be denied now. He remembered the missile, like it was his own memory, and marvelled at the size of the thing. The nuclear weapon was larger than any of the others, and hidden far further down into the earth, near the bottom of the pit. A pit that had been dug not by humans, but by... The memory spasmed, distorted. Harry couldn't hold on to it as it vanished, disintegrated. Only the memory of the missile remained.

Harry took in a deep breath, releasing Tarleton at last, the connection between them suddenly broken. The terrorist dropped like a rag doll, his eyes wide and staring, occasionally twitching back and forth as if searching for sights that nobody else could see. Drool dripped down his cheeks as he remained still. The man's mind wasn't gone, not entirely, but it would take time before it could regather itself, before it could take control once more. Harry felt a little sorry, but he couldn't deal with that right now. There were worse implications of what he'd just learned.

"We can't do it," Harry muttered as he turned to Tony, rubbing his head, which protested the movement. He'd have one hell of a headache in the morning, though not as bad as his victim's.

"What...  _What the hell was that?"_ Tony had his repulsors raised towards Harry, and took a step back. "Did you - what the hell?" He looked at the crumpled form with wide eyes. "Did you kill him?"

"I..." Harry looked away, disgusted with himself when he looked back at Tarleton. He'd done what Snape had done - worse, even. There had been no finesse. He felt like throwing up, but he managed to stop himself. "He's not - dead. I... read his mind."

"Read -" Tony edged back further, speechless. Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "You know, when I told you that sometimes killing was necessary, I didn't mean for you to extrapolate that to 'lobotomizing from a distance.' - seriously."

"I haven't had to do that in years," Harry said calmly; though he was not, not really. "We'll talk about it later, alright? The missile - we can't stop it, Tony. Nobody canstop the launch. That's why Tarleton was so confident, he knew that the bomb would fly." He looked down at the unconscious man and sighed. "I did this to him, and it was pointless. He was just keeping us busy. He's as brainwashed as all the rest of these people." Harry really wasn't looking forward to the inevitable freak-out Tony would have about his Legilimency. Right now was definitely not the time for it.

"Right, that missile," Tony said, glancing behind him, though his gaze kept shifting to Tarleton. "Harry, you terrify me sometimes, you know that?" He sighed tiredly. "Right. Atomic bomb without an off switch. That's  _insane._ You know how many people could die if one of those things goes off when it shouldn't? That's asking for –" He blinked. "Oh. Right. Terrorist. Forget I asked."

Harry frowned as he glanced towards the centre of the base, trying to ignore Tony's stare. "We have less than two minutes to figure out a way to stop the unstoppable." He glanced up at the blue sky, still that sickly version of the colour that was caused by the force field surrounding them. "When that missile flies, it'll pass right through that; It's insulated." He grimaced as he thought of the memory he'd gained from Tarleton. "There is something else. This thing – it's six times as big as the others."

Tony flipped open his mask, paling. " _Six times the size?_ If one of the others can take out a city, can you imagine what something like that could do? We need to stop that thing cold before it gets within a hundred miles of its target!"

"I know where it's going," Harry said grimly. "The bastard set the target to L.A."

Tony said nothing to that. They both knew what that meant. Not only was the Helicarrier right there, not too far off the coast, but Malibu was right next door - as was Pepper.

"We'll stop this thing, Tony." Harry looked down at Tarleton, more because of disgust at what he'd done to him than any actual pity. He'd probably deserved the treatment, and a lot of people would just have outright killed him. Still - in some ways, this was worse. "We're not leaving this one here, he's too valuable. The moment we have radio contact, someone can Portkey him to the Helicarrier. I don't want to know what they'd do to him if he arrived unannounced. Fury can extract whatever information he wants from the guy when he comes around again." Harry closed his eyes. "He'll be compliant for a while, he's just had the equivalent of an aneurysm. He won't put up much of a fight."

Tony smashed the ground at Tarleton's feet with a metal fist, and with the third hit it came loose around the man's shin; with a single pull the feet came out, though they looked a bit worse for wear from the abuse. Tony just looked at the suddenly pitiful figure. "Remind me never to piss you off. You don't have any  _more_ of these terrifying skills, do you?"

"I do," Harry said neutrally. "Don't look at me that way. Everyone has secrets. I'm a wizard, we're practically known for that kind of thing."

" _T-Minus one minute, thirty seconds."_

"I suppose the mystery fits with the magician persona," Tony admitted after a moment. "There's nothing to it - there's only one way we're taking this baby down. We'll have to do a manual override." he added, dropping Tarleton on his shoulder as he closed his faceplate.

"And how do we do  _that?"_

"We blow the thing out of the sky," Tony said dryly. "Jarvis, check all my systems, make sure I'm ready to fly. I'm going after the thing at top speed, if I can manage it."

" _Sir, your injuries-"_

"Ignore those, I'll take care of them back home," Tony said sharply. "How many systems are still on the fritz from the crash?"

If the AI could sigh, Harry figured it would have done so right then.  _"Thrusters are at 80% capacity, though the right hand-mounted repulsor is registering power spikes. Boosters are functional – top speed Mach 1.5, 2 with those boosters. Limited manoeuvrability due to internal damage on a number of control flaps, especially at high speeds. Limited weapon capability due to decoupled power supply in right shoulder."_

"Figured that would bite me in the ass," Tony muttered. "At least my hypothesis of it doubling as a grenade turned out to be true. Imagine if that arc reactor hadn't blown – that whole little team action would've been pointless. Jarvis, what about my music?"

" _Functional."_

"Good, all the important stuff is there." He glanced at Harry, then, and froze. "Crap. You don't have a ride, do you?"

"Don't worry about it," Harry said lightly. It figured, Harry thought wryly, that he'd end up using this in an emergency situation after all; he'd have to rely on his experience and instincts. Reaching into his pouch, he retrieved a long package that was still neatly tied up. It was the last 'gift' from home, and he'd been unsure about unpacking it. With the Firebolt out of commission, though, he had no choice.

"You brought a spare broomstick," Tony observed dryly.

"It's a Cloudskimmer," Harry said softly. "I had it made by the same company that designed the Firebolt. It's a broom for Seekers that doubles as a racing model." He smiled reverently as it hovered in mid-air before him. "It's a work of art."

" _T-Minus thirty seconds."_

"Had enough time ogling your new toy?" Tony barked, rising off the ground on his repulsors as he held a tight grip on the unconscious Tarleton. "We're running out of time. We definitely don't want to be late."

Harry smiled, despite everything. "A wizard is never late, Tony, nor is he early."

Tony groaned. "I should never have let you borrow the  _Fellowship._ "

* * *

"We're definitely running out of time, and we still have to figure out a way to shut this down," Clint said nervously, glaring at the massive glowing machine before him, towering at least five meters above him, partially covered by several fortified layers of steel. Finding the device that powered the force field had been one thing - it was gigantic – but shutting it down was quite another. There was no input screen, no keyboard. Just a massive slab of metal hiding all that went on inside. His explosives, powerful as they were, did no more than blow dents or tiny holes in the covering, and they didn't have time to rig the entire thing.

"It's definitely not from around here," Natasha observed. "No 'Made in China' anywhere. This thing is an import, but of a whole different kind."

"It is not Asgardian," Sif interjected. "I do not know who built this, but it was not the Chitauri, since their technology is recognizable to any observer. The Kree would not have their machines so openly on display. Perhaps a rogue group could be responsible; they often reject the aesthetics of their parent race."

"Very helpful," Clint muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look – there's a sort of hand print here, but it does nothing." He tapped it lightly, even put his hand on it, but it didn't react. "Wait –"

"Probably a DNA lock," Natasha filled in, nodding. "We have that technology too. It's not surprising, really."

"That's trouble," Clint said. "I can't rig a way around that in three minutes, not without a sample from the one who usually controls it. Maybe from that guy I shot? If we can get a sample from him-"

"Don't have the time for that," Natasha said. "What if it needs his fingerprints too? What if it isn't him _?_ If it were me, I'd keep the one who can control this thing well out of its way while it was working. Probably he's locked in some dungeon downstairs, safe from prying eyes."

"You're making these terrorists sound awfully devious," Clint pointed out.

"They're terrorists who were clever enough to hide a fourth nuclear missile by manipulating its radioactive signature," Natasha said slowly. "These bastards are clearly paranoid enough for that, so why would this thing be any different?"

Sif stepped forward with an exasperated sigh, her sword suddenly by her side. "I shall take care of it." She glanced behind her, raising a hand to her mouth. Natasha winced as a high, sharp whistling sound escaped from between her fingers, impossibly loud. The sound echoed within the chamber and out of it.

"Wow, that was loud," Clint exclaimed, rubbing his ears.

"Asgardian physiology is more robust than your own," Sif said neutrally. "I do not usually take advantage of it, but when necessary..." She smiled thinly as she stepped right up to the machine, and with a single movement slashed across the front of the device, cutting through metal and wires like they were butter. Sparks and power surges ran up and down the blade, though Sif didn't seem to notice a thing. With another slash she formed an 'X', and nodded.

"This will do. If there is any mind left, he will remember."

"What did you…?" Clint paled as he heard heavy footfalls approaching. "Oh, you didn't –"

Sif didn't say anything as she grabbed Clint by the front of his yellow jacket, dragging him sideways away from the machine and towards Natasha. They weren't a moment too soon – the Hulk blasted through the walls right behind her, sending solid sheets of metal flying, bent from the sheer force of his entrance. Its primal roar rent the air as the beast slammed forward, careening into the machine with such force that the metal shell, easily half a meter thick, buckled like tin foil. The Hulk took a step back and threw itself forward again, and this time the wall gave way; an incredibly noxious liquid poured out of the hole and sprayed across the floor as sparks burst from within just as another monstrous roar echoed out of it.

"You…" Clint blinked as he looked at Sif. "Did you just call the Hulk with the equivalent of a dog whistle?"

Sif smiled. "The doctor and I spoke before we arrived. The man within the beast - whatever aspect of him which remains - remembers that." She frowned then as the sound of metal tearing emanated from the hole that the Hulk had made as the last of the liquid dripped out. "We should move away before the device is destroyed, as it will certainly be violent."

Natasha backed away towards the door, glancing at Sif and particularly her sword. "You sliced right through steel with that."

Sif smiled proudly, slipping it back onto her hip. "I will tell the All-Father that you appreciate his handiwork." she raised an eyebrow as Natasha looked at her own knife, battered and chipped, with a frown.

" _T-Minus thirty seconds."_

* * *

The grace with which the Cloudskimmer cut through the air was amazing, and Harry only now realized how comparatively slow the Firebolt really was. He couldn't really focus on enjoying this new broomstick, though, as he raced after Tony.

The force field was still on. That was bad – that was definitely bad. He skidded to a halt and dropped to the ground just as Natasha, Clint and Sif ran towards them – a huge explosion resounded somewhere in the distance, muffled slightly because it was within the base itself.

"The generator's going to blow any moment now," Clint yelled as he skid to a halt, ripping irritably at the A.I.M. vest he was wearing. "The Hulk is in there, smashing things to pieces. Something vital's got to give."

"We couldn't stop the missile," Tony replied quickly, landing and letting Tarleton crumple to the ground again.

" _Launch initiated."_

"Speak of the devil," Tony muttered. "Keep this guy with you until you have radio contact. Get in touch with S.H.I.E.L.D. since they'll want to question him." He glanced at Harry as the ground trembled violently. "Someone has to take that missile down, and there's only two of us that can fly."

Harry nodded sharply. "I can keep up."

"It'll take a few seconds before the missile clears the launch tube," Tony said quickly, blasting into the sky again just as a second rumble joined the first. "Oh – this is going to  _suck._ "

The explosion of the overheated shield generator came first; a shock wave rolled over the five of them with a sound like a gong being struck, and the middle of the base launched up like a volcano had erupted, smoke billowing into the air. The Hulk jumped out of the furnace with singed hair but otherwise no visible injuries, landing in a crouch a hundred feet from the base. It turned on a dime, its roar so loud that Harry could feel his teeth chattering.

Fire burst across the sky, spreading out from the explosion, and the eerie blue light vanished entirely. A screaming whine filled the air, then. A large metal hatch slid open on the far side of the base, indistinguishable from any other part, and it forcefully shoved aside rubble and bodies. The missile rose slowly from it, though it was already speeding, flying almost straight upwards with a gigantic plume of white-hot exhaust blasting out the back. It was so bright that it was impossible to look directly at it, and Harry squinted as it cleared the base.

"Time's up," Harry snapped, kicking off the ground and steering his broom straight up, pushing it to the limit of its acceleration, which was considerably higher than his Firebolt's had ever been capable of. The huge missile was getting faster, accelerating at a ridiculous rate, and Harry could only just keep up with it. Tony was right behind him, his repulsors blazing brightly as he kept pace, steering with only one of his hand repulsors.

"We need to get alongside the thing!" Tony called through his radio. "Wish we could just blast it to pieces, but..."

"I don't know much about bombs, but I think that could set it off," Harry responded dryly, grabbing his radio tightly with one hand as he forced the broom to go faster still. "We have to figure out something else. Put it in space, like you said, maybe?"

"Too big!" Tony responded immediately. "I brought enough for three small nukes– this one's twice the size I can handle, and then some. If I tried it here, I'd just give it a boost - it'd hit the Rockies instead, and that's probably even  _worse_!"

" _Come in! This is Fury, come in!"_

Harry sighed in relief as he heard the familiar voice. "This is Harry. I hear you, Director!" The Cloudskimmer was still going faster – easily two or three times the Firebolt's top speed, now, and it didn't show any sign of stopping. The missile was screaming through the air with a giant lance of fire behind it, propelling it onwards as it slowly edged away from even Harry's considerable speed. Tony's hand repulsor suddenly sparked and he cursed aloud as he rebalanced in mid-air, falling a little behind.

"I can't keep this up – the suit's giving out," Tony exclaimed, wincing. "Jarvis – put all the weapons power into propulsion. If we don't keep up with that thing, it won't matter."

"Director?" Harry spoke into his radio, tapping it repeatedly. Tony hadn't heard the call, he was sure, or he'd certainly have mentioned it. He knew that short-range communication had worked even inside the force field, but it was clear long-range still wasn't working properly. "Director Fury? This is Harry!"

" _Finally!"_  Fury sounded outright relieved, and for a moment Harry wondered what parallel universe he'd ended up in now. The levity quickly evaporated. " _Tell me, what the hell is happening out there? We've been getting nothing but radio silence since that field went up, and we're only getting intermittent signal strength now. Are you in a dead zone?"_

"Bruce just disabled the device," Harry ground out, glancing behind him for Tony. "Listen, we're hot on the tail of the last missile. We couldn't stop the launch. Are you tracking us? We're headed towards L.A."

He heard a curse on the other side of line, and grimaced. If S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't discovered the missile yet, then the thing was very silent. Too silent. If he didn't disable it, right here in the sky, then it would probably bypass any radar along the way, spotted only visually. He had no idea if that was enough to shoot it down. Well – time to get assertive then.

"Director? I need you to get your Helicarrier and everyone you can as far away from L.A. as possible. I repeat – as far away as possible. I need someone to keep this thing on satellite, however you do that, so we both know where I am."

Tony came alongside at last, panting. "Harry – that thing's going to go second-stage, soon. I don't have any weapons capability, not without falling too far behind. If it goes full power… Take it down, now. Whatever you have, use it! Even if the thing detonates."

Harry nodded. If the thing detonated, he knew that even his magic wouldn't protect him. He and Tony would be no more than ash.

" _We have a missile in the air!"_ Harry heard Fury yell through his listening spell. " _I want visual, and I want you to rally every anti-missile defense system we have. Move the Helicarrier and every other force in Los Angeles outwards from the possible impact area. Yes, you heard me."_  There was some crackling on the other end. " _How fast is it moving?"_

"Tony, Fury wants to know how fast this thing's going," Harry relayed, wincing. "He says hi, by the way."

"We're approaching Mach 1 now," Tony answered immediately. "I'm pushing the suit to keep up, normally I'd reach Mach 3, easy –" The man groaned, then.

"Are you hurt?"

"Yes, Sherlock," Tony said after a moment. "Not important. "

"Wish me luck, then." Harry said, leaning forward over his broom as he forced it to go as fast as he could go. It was probably a bad thing to force it like that, but he didn't care right now. He held on for dear life as the air shuddered, clouds forming around him as a sound like thunder split the sky, rippling past him. Harry ignored it, focusing on the missile in his sight. He'd done this before, once: That had been a drone. This was different. If he fell off, not even his spells would protect him from the intense heat of the exhaust, which he could feel from here, and he would be burnt to a crisp. If he understood Tony correctly, this wasn't even the top speed yet.

"Oh, you're not doing what I think you're doing!" Tony exclaimed over the radio. "You are  _not_ beating my cool and doing a Dr. Strangelove!"

Harry ignored everything, concentrating on holding steady. He held on to his broom with one hand while raising his wand with the other. If the missile really went so quick that his spells were effectively nullified, there was one he might be able to use. If the missile couldn't come to him, then perhaps… " _Accio missile."_

The metal surface approached rather quicker than he anticipated, and Harry smashed painfully against it, skidding across the surface for a moment before he managed to catch a grip, nearly tearing his arm out of its socket as he did so. He cast a sticking charm as soon as he could manage, desperately glad that he held a good grip on his wand – if he'd lost it, he'd be dead. He needed to figure out a way to protect it, after this was all over. His broom clasped tightly in his hand, he kept himself pressed tightly against the hull, the wind cutting over him with such ferocity that he could barely weather it. He couldn't see Tony, couldn't hear the radio over the unbelievable volume of the engines burning behind him.

Then – things got worse. With a fantastic explosion something gave way behind him – an almighty shudder went through the entire device, trembling below him as part of it  _fell off_  the back. The engine was off for a brief moment, and then, with a roar that could rival any dragon's, a second one came alive. The torrent of liquid fire that poured out the back of the shortened missile was so intense that Harry had to cast a Flame Freezing charm when his shoes caught on fire from the proximity, and he could already feel that he'd need Burn Paste, later. The wind got faster, if that were possible, and only a Shield Charm managed to keep it at bay, managed to stop it from ripping him off his perch.

Harry just lay there for a while, thinking about what he was doing. This missile was far too large for him to transfigure in one go; he wouldn't even know where to begin. Trying to get it to target something else wasn't going to work, not with something like this – he didn't even know if there was a heatseeker like in Obadiah's suit. He figured this rocket was more like the gun that Bullski had used – a massive unguided projectile. He couldn't blast through it without hurting himself or blowing himself right off it again. What could he do that wouldn't bloweveryone, first of all himself, to smithereens? He'd really rather avoid meeting Death again so quickly.

"Tony?!" Harry yelled into his radio, hoping that his transmissions would come through, at least. "Stay clear of the missile. If something goes wrong, and this thing explodes…"

Grasping in front of him blindly, Harry pulled himself forward a little. The wind was erratic, occasionally cutting around his carefully placed Protection spells with such sudden gusts of intense power that he could do nothing but hold on until it was over.

"Where's the Hulk when you need him?" Harry muttered to himself as he contiued slowly inching his way forward along the missile. His broom was his lifeline, so he kept it close; it was his only way down to earth. He didn't know where he was and had only a vague idea where he was going – apparating now would be asking for a serious case of splinching, and there was nobody around to fix it. He shuddered from the cold as the missile kept climbing, and the air became thinner around him, and much, much colder. He cast a heating charm on his clothes, hoping that it would stick. A Bubble-head charm would take care of the air issue, though his eyes stung unpleasantly even with that in place. People weren't supposed to live up here, and his body protested against the abuse, even if it could take more than a Muggle would be able to.

The sky grew darker overhead, Harry realized, even though it was the middle of the day. The sun was visible in the distance, but the sky grew darker despite that, and he thought he could see stars glinting in the distance, when he looked away from the sun. Looking down at the ground, all he saw was unidentifiable shapes of vast mountain ranges and water, still shrinking in his view.

Harry sighed in relief when he realized that, though he wasn't slowing any, the Shield Charm was taking less and less abuse. The wind was still strong, but it didn't cut as harshly and Harry climbed further, encouraged. As he looked up, he realized something remarkable – in the distance, he could see the horizon, and it wasn't flat anymore. Very slightly it curved downwards. He sped up, his steps surer as the wind died down, and at last there was a sudden silence. He didn't know what had happened for a moment, then he glanced backwards. The second engine had stopped by itself, turned off, and it didn't look like there would be a third. The last few pitiful flames sputtered out, and then there was only the wind.

" _Harry? Come in, Harry?"_

"I'm here, I'm here," Harry answered tiredly. "Tony, where are you?"

" _Where am I? About one hundred and fifty kilometres below you, and five hundred behind,"_  Tony answered. " _The signal strength is weakening, though - I think you're on the far edge of my range. Are you – still on the missile? How in the name of Science and the Enlightenment did you survive that? Did you bring a spacesuit?"_

Harry didn't bother to comment on that; they both knew the answer. He chuckled softly as he finally approached the front of the missile; it was just dead weight, now, soaring through the sky under its own inertia. He was fairly certain that without his spells, he'd be dead right now. "It was sort of a spur of the moment decision, I admit," he muttered over the radio. He shuffled forward again, realizing that he couldn't feel the wind anymore - the air had to be really thin up here. He was still going up, it seemed, though it was barely perceptible, and he used the lull in activity to get to the front of the missile. How he was going to get down again – he had no idea. "It's quite nice up here. You should try it sometime. Peaceful."

" _Jarvis did tell me to make a space-capable suit, once upon a time,"_ Tony answered. " _Never mind that, can you disable the missile from up there?_ "

"It sort of stopped on its own," Harry said, glancing behind himself. "The engine shut off."

" _Course it did, it's ballistic now,"_ Tony responded immediately. " _It's on its way to the target now, it doesn't need the engine. Can you disable the warhead? The rest is secondary."_  
  
"Trying to do that," Harry muttered. He tapped his radio, but he got nothing but static on any other channel. "I'll tell you when I know more. If you hear from S.H.I.E.L.D. you'll let me know, right?" He shook his head as he looked at the front of the missile – it didn't have anything to grasp on to, no helpful ridges. It was a smooth white cone with a black tip. He hesitated for a moment. "Tony, if this goes all wrong..."

"It won't," Tony cut in immediately. "I need you to fix about a hundred designs, and I've already thought of a dozen more while we were flying. Add space-faring suits to the list, too. Get that thing down, and we'll talk. You'll even get a bonus from me personally. How does that sound?"

Harry smirked. "I appreciated the last few months, just wanted you to know that. Hopefully we'll all have a beer together, tonight. We can probably annoy Fury to death with endless bragging about things that only partially occurred. It's not like he can tell us they didn't."

"I like how you think. I'll pull a good wine out of the cellar for the occasion."

Harry snorted as he got to work. The first cutting charms sliced through the shell of the missile without much effort, and slowly he drew the wand across the surface in a slow circle. Sparks and molten metal sprayed out and Harry ducked away from the worst of it as the entire metal section, almost a meter in diameter, came loose and flew off in an instant, flipping through the air into the empty sky, falling away towards the distant ground. Harry clasped a hand around the newly made hole, glancing inside. There was a huge mess of wires and electronics in there. Excellent – small parts. He could work with that.

The first of the wires simply turned to ash as Harry prodded them, then he started transfiguring everything he could find into innocuous objects; a small pile of springs, buttons, hairclips and more than one pair of mangled glasses began piling up as he kept going. The missile shuddered, and something that'd been humming ever so slightly fell still under him.

" _The guidance system, that was the autonomous guidance system,"_  Tony blurted. " _I'm following the trajectory – what you just did, I think you knocked the thing off course. I don't know how much that'll do for the end point, though."_

Harry cut off the last of the connections to the back of the missile. "Nice to know. Now, how do I remove that warhead you keep mentioning?"

" _I – I guess you'll need to destroy the computer, the nerve centre of the whole thing."_

"And where is that?"

" _It's on the tip."_

Harry sighed. Of course it was. Nothing was ever easy, was it? "Is that the only way you can turn this off? What if I turn the explosive itself into something else? I mentioned the shaving cream, didn't I?"

" _If you can manage it – but if that thing blows up with you on it..."_

Screw it – clambering over the smooth side of the missile to the very front was suicide, even more so than everything so far. He already had a clean shot at the inside from here, and if he used a spell that was powerful enough, it should work out. Not an explosive spell – that would just be counter-productive – but perhaps something similar.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on his goal. The missile diagram that he'd seen had to be pretty close to what he had here – just six times bigger. It had to be enough. Very slowly, he swished his wand back and forth in a calculated and precise sequence that he'd memorized years before. Transfiguration was easiest if there were similarities between the objects you were transfiguring. Here, he could use the one thing he'd picked up from the Twins that could be used for more than tricks and traps. Confident, he stabbed forward with his wand.

* * *

Director Fury paced in front of his huge screen as dozens of people tracked the missile on its way across the sea, still only barely halfway to its target. He glanced over the bridge of the Helicarrier with a worried frown. Harry's signal had dropped out a while ago, and he'd yet to re-establish any contact with the others, even if he had visual contact with all of them.

Iron Man was flying home at a fairly sedate pace, probably damaged. Harry had vanished entirely. Back in the terrorist base, four people had made their way out of the facility, setting off a great number of explosives before they left, while dragging something behind them. He hadn't been able to determine who they were dragging along, but he could make a guess.

A breathless silence had taken over the bridge of the Helicarrier as they moved away at full speed, skimming low across the water with as much power as the engines could deliver. Still, if the missile hit, they'd get one hell of a wallop anyway.

"I have a thermal signature!" Triers yelled.

Crap. Fury closed his eye tiredly as monitors lighted up with a clear fiery flash high in the sky, an intense flash of infra-red, right where the missile had been. The first visual images appeared moments later: A huge fireball, ten times the width of the missile, had taken over the sky. The fiery trail extended for a dozen miles behind the missile. As they watched, parts detached from the fiery ball in erratic patterns, streaking through the sky as if under their own power - the image was too poor to make them out.

"Trying to enhance," Triers muttered. "Now, how did they do this on CSI..."

The explosion came into sharp focus, and everyone gawked for a moment. The entire massive column of fire was an intermingled and glorious mess of blue, green and a lot of red, shaping themselves seemingly without effort into snakes and dragons, massive winged beasts that briefly emerged before submerging into the whole again. For a moment a bright pink wheel of fire burst forward, twirling sideways until it unravelled again into individual streaks. Among the conflagration darted sparkling figures, almost like letters.

"Wait, did that just spell out...?" Coulson shook his head. "What am I looking at, and why did it just call me a spoony bard?"

"Fireworks," Fury said. "It's  _fireworks._

" _S.H.I.E.L.D. – Fury? Hey, if you can hear me, this is Iron Man. Tell me I'm not hallucinating, please, since I think I'm going nuts. Did I just see...?"_

"We're seeing it," Fury answered immediately, wondering momentarily how the signal was getting through, now. "There was an explosion – I don't know exactly what it was, but definitely not the warhead. The missile is still headed for L.A. and it might still be primed, though."

"Every anti-missile defence we have is aimed at it," Coulson said, frowning. "It's flying incredibly quickly, though, almost ten times the speed of sound, and it's invisible to radar. Perhaps we could zero in on the heat signature, but it would still need to be there. At these speeds, I bet the fire will be out long before. It's going to hit something – kinetically, at least. If this - this craziness keeps up, it'll probably set fire to everything in a wide area."

"Do we have crash coordinates?"

"Assuming it won't course correct..." Triers paused. "It's no longer going for the centre of Los Angeles, sir. It's headed for Malibu."

" _Pepper,"_ Tony breathed. " _No, not – Damn it, I'm going there myself. Portus."_ The sound cut out, and Fury sighed as he rubbed his forehead, staring at the screen.

"How long do we have before it arrives?"

"Not long. Maybe half an hour," Coulson answered worriedly. "Harry – do you think he's...?"

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Dead? I wouldn't be surprised that if he was, he'd crawl right back out of the ground." He turned to the screen, to the flaming ball of destruction still hurtling towards the city. "He'd better not be dead, if he knows what's good for him."

On the screen, bright orange streaks suddenly burst across the front of the whirling mass of fire, solidifying for only a moment. They spelled out 'WWW'.

* * *

The wind whipped past him at incredible speed, and Harry could do nothing but hang onto his broom with all the strength that he had in his limbs, hoping that he'd slow down enough by the time he got to lower altitudes that he could steer again. Right now he couldn't even open his eyes due to the strong wind; he'd stuffed away his wand, his glasses, everything that could get lost. It was becoming an uncomfortable habit of his, falling.

He'd changed the explosives, he'd succeeded in that, but he hadn't anticipated what came next. Whatever explosive material had been in that nosecone, whatever nuclear device, it had been much larger than he'd anticipated. In a single movement he'd turned the entire front from one explosive to another – a simple transfiguration, really, and far easier to pull off than most of the alternatives he could think of. Unfortunately the new explosives had detonated instantly, since they were far easier to ignite. Several tons of Weasley Wildfire Whiz-Bangs had gone off simultaneously, and Harry had barely managed to throw himself from the side of the missile and into thin air before the rockets had blasted out in a twisting stream of fiery death. The explosion burst free from the hole he'd drilled, spreading the rockets far and wide, and Harry was caught briefly in the huge column of smoke it left behind, looking very much like a comet streaking through the sky.

Then he'd started falling, and he couldn't stop.

It had been years since he'd properly flown. Sure, he'd done his hobby thing out in Afghanistan, but the last proper Quidditch Match was more than five years ago, before things had gone all messed up. Harry tried not to think back to that time. Ginny died, and Hermione had told him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't stand for his self-destructive tendencies. He'd had another row with Ron, even if they eventually got over that one.

The night he'd left, in what felt now like another lifetime entirely, had been the culmination of a long path, and looking back, he wasn't sure if it was quite as horrible as some people would probably say. He'd died, in a sense. It should've been the end of things, really, if not for Hermione's persistence. He had to admit it – even after Hogwarts, after Voldemort, he had stayed closer to her and Ron than anyone else from school. There were disagreements, annoyances, sure, but he'd stuck with them even after they'd gotten married to each other. That was, he supposed, why they'd put so much effort into his welfare, in trying to understand.

A vacation, that's how he'd described it. Ron had called it suicide, of course, had called him insane for going through with this wild idea, with this crazy thought based on nothing but old books, speculations from Dumbledore, and desperate hope. He'd left them all behind, knowing that going back would be tough, or perhaps impossible. He'd done it because he couldn't  _not_ do it. Hermione had given his obsession many names – some of them definitely less kind than others. A calling, sometimes, when she felt charitable. A delusion, at other moments. Hope. Insanity. Destiny. Fatalism. Harry'd stopped caring about what to call it.

In the end, Hermione and Ron had begrudgingly let him go. He'd seen everyone one last time before he arrived here, in this strange new world. Some hadn't understood, like Sirius - he barely seemed to understand why the Resurrection Stone had found its way back to him. Some hadn't needed his words or his stated convictions, like Dumbledore. He'd travelled an immeasurable distance, stepped across a void, forward to a place that he couldn't predict ahead of time. He hoped that he could find a reason where he ended up. He'd taken everything he could think of, even the Hallows. His old world would never have to worry about those things again.

Of course, then he'd stupidly forgotten to check for Muggle cameras and he'd gotten himself seen almost as soon as he arrived. Harry guessed that everyone had days like that.

He idly wondered if he should tell anyone, tell them about home, about the wonders of it and the reasons that he couldn't bear to live there anymore. Perhaps he could tell someone about Voldemort, and the Hallows, and all the other secrets that he kept close to his chest. Bruce or Tony, perhaps. They knew a little as his magic played a huge role in everything, but they deserved some trust. They were together in this crazy heroism, saving people and taking down despots, just like old times. This world already felt a bit like home.

Perhaps  _this_ was why he was here. He'd saved one world already, the Wizarding World. He had never asked for it, but he did not regret it either. Perhaps this world needed him as well, and that was why this was where he'd ended up. This world had heroes aplenty, but with its magical people extinct, a vital part was missing. Yet, here came the impossible, a lone wizard. It was funny how he had intended to stay out of things, to stick to the sidelines. For a while, that had worked. Then he had started to meet other people again - and here he was, falling through the air after nearly getting himself killed trying to save the innocent. Last time, he had risked everything for his friends, for the wizards and witches. This time he put his life on the line for people he scarcely knew, a world he'd spent barely a year in, yet. Here he was, the Magician, Master of all three Deathly Hallows and the only sorcerer in the world. He did not believe in fate, but he believed in coincidence even less.

" _-ving this? Are you receiving this? Please respond."_

Harry tumbled end over end, still descending, though his speed had decreased drastically. He managed to grasp his radio, tried to touch the button that would answer, but he couldn't remember which one it was. Finally he tapped one blindly, hoping to get it right.

"Fury?"

Harry could hear shouting, cheering, on the other end of the line. It took him a moment to realize that they were doing it for  _him._  A smile made its way onto his face as Harry slowly got control over his broom and the ground rapidly came too close for comfort. Wrenching the front up, Harry managed to turn his vertical flight into a horizontal one, hanging across his Cloudskimmer with a deep sigh, the tips of the trees only a few feet away.

" _Are you in need of assistance?"_

Harry smiled. "I'm intact. The missile's been disarmed, now – it's nothing but old iron," he answered. "Tell Tony that he doesn't have to worry about it anymore, if you can get a connection."

Someone spoke up on the other side of the line, then. " _Sir… have you checked the trajectory? The wreckage, it's still going."_

Fury was silent for a while as Harry sighed deeply. They'd done it, they'd saved Los Angeles. Saved more than just the city, actually. The next morning, millions of people would wake up, unaware that they'd been minutes away from obliteration. They would probably never find out what near-disaster had occurred, nor that six people went in there – seven, he corrected himself after a moment. Seven went in – six came out again.

" _Harry, you magnificent bastard!"_ Tony's voice suddenly resounded from his radio, far too loud. Harry flinched, grabbing the earphone.

"Does it have to be so loud?"

" _You made it – you incredible self-sacrificial idiot."_ Tony didn't say anything for a few moments. " _I got Pepper and Happy out of the house, but my suit gave out. Only got them as far as three blocks away before I had to land again, couldn't move a muscle. I thought that we'd die together, there. Thank heavens for quasi-alien wizards."_

" _Mr. Stark? Did you hack into S.H.I.E.L.D. communications again?"_ Fury asked, though he didn't sound too bothered, for once. " _This is becoming a recurring annoyance."_

" _Sorry – emergency. Don't know what I was thinking."_ Tony sounded almost sorry when he said that, though Harry figured he was probably already downloading whatever information he could get his hands on. " _I had to get in contact, you understand."_

" _I do,"_ Fury said after a moment, sighing. " _I'm glad that you have retrieved Miss Potts and your driver,"_ he added. " _I trust you weren't keeping anything else that's irreplaceable at your house?"_

" _What? Why?"_ There was a brief silence. " _OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING!"_

Harry didn't need to guess what happened. Several tons of supersonic metal, melting at the edges and filled partially with unspent rocket fuel had to crash _somewhere._

He couldn't hold in his laughter and he kept going long after Tony shut off his radio.

* * *

"You know, I have some potions that would make this all a lot quicker," Harry said as he wandered into the infirmary, rubbing his strained neck. "They're not poison, honestly. They should work the same on a Muggle. Besides, Bruce already took some."

"Yeah, I heard about that," Tony replied from his bed, wincing. "However much I might appreciate getting high right now, I'm pretty sure it'd mess with my medication. Don't really want to be in this bed any longer than I have to. I'll stick with the certified stuff."

Harry smiled at that. Tony's leg was bandaged and splinted, both his arms covered from neck to wrist as well in thick plaster. Three ribs were cracked and his skull too, if only a little; more than a few jokes had been made about the man's hard head already. His leg hung limply in a swing, definitely the worst off; the doctors had seemed positively amazed when an inch-wide chunk of gold-titanium alloy had been pulled from the wound after passing all the way through.

"You managed to rough yourself up pretty well," Harry said idly. "All this damage, and you were still flying your suit. You've built up some serious pain tolerance, haven't you?"

"You live in a cave with some terrorists for a few months, see what you can deal with," Tony muttered, trying to gesture. "Honestly I'm more annoyed at my arms. I look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, and I don't even get to battle major landmarks." He sighed, staring at Harry for a long moment. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"More suit ideas? You've already pitched like twenty," Harry replied, glowering. "I'd suggest getting out of that bed, first. I think that when Fury gets over the fact that we saved his skin, he'll court martial half of the team. Pretty sure he can't do it with us, since we're not really employed."

"Not about  _that_ ," Tony said seriously. "Back there - you really didn't know if you'd get out alive, did you? You went and jumped onto a flying nuke and you didn't know if you'd get down to earth again. I don't know if I should call it courage or insanity."

"It'd be an impressive way to go out," Harry pointed out glibly.

"Fair - sacrificing yourself and stopping a nuke sound about as heroic as things get," Tony agreed. "Let's hope that it doesn't come to that again, though."

Harry nodded, frowning. "The doctors tell me that you should have bled out. The only reason you didn't was because the metal chunk that was stuck in your leg wouldn't budge – it kept perfectly still. They can't figure out why it didn't bend under the stress you were putting on it."

"Unbreakable," Tony said, smiling wryly. "Perhaps get a proper design to take advantage of that, instead of just adding it at the end and forgetting about the consequences."

Harry pause for a moment."You know the spell might have worn off if I died, right?" he asked after a while, thinking back to the Astronomy Tower, to the awful day that Dumbledore had fallen at Snape's hand. "I was risking both our lives, even if we didn't know it." He sighed, dropping into a chair beside Tony's bed.

"I'm glad you didn't die horribly, then," Tony quipped. Then, he glanced at the Elder Wand apprehensively. "About what happened before all that -"

"When you're well enough to punch me again, we can discuss that," Harry said shortly. "I probably deserve a hit or two, anyway. I'll tell you the nasty stuff, if you still want to know it. I... suppose you've earned that much."

" _Thank you._ I'll show you all the stuff I designed to take you down, too. Designed, mind, not built. I have ideas like that for everyone." He smirked. "Perhaps you can help me improve them? Let's face it, if you ever went bad we'd be in a  _ton_  of trouble."

"Well, this sounds cheerful," A soft voice said from the door. A blond head peeked in, smiling.

"Pepper! Great to see you again," Tony exclaimed, wincing as his ribs protested.

As she walked in, Pepper glanced at Harry, nodding to him with a smile. "Rhodey's taking care of matters back at your place, rescuing what he can. Says he wants to dig up one of your old suits, actually."

"He's still not getting his hands on that," Tony said obstinately. "Not while he's wearing that uniform, anyway." He hesitated. "Is there anything left?"

"Rubble, mostly." Pepper replied easily. "Most of the stuff in the basement is fine. All your personal effects, even your television, actually managed to make it through. Rhodey's packing it all up for transport, including all the stuff that your father left. I'm afraid that you don't have any cars left, and most of Jarvis' computer core burned down as well."

" _There were secondary servers, Miss Potts,"_ Jarvis said from Tony's bedside, where the Iron Man helmet's lights blinked on. " _My files are still maintained on six dispersed relay stations. I am still alive and kicking."_

"Thanks, Jarvis," Tony muttered. "Well, this has been a good month, hasn't it? My company building got blown to pieces, my suit is beyond repair, again, and I'm stuck in bed with several broken bones. Now, on top of all that,  _someone_ managed to dump most of an ICBM through my bedroom window." He glared at Harry, smirking. He turned back to Pepper, raising an eyebrow. "Seems like someone is trying to send me a message, don't you think?"

"You need to slow down?" Pepper tried hopefully.

"No - I need a skyscraper," Tony concluded. "L.A. is clearly cursed, it has to be. I'm picking up my bags and moving to the Big Apple. California can kiss my ass goodbye." He looked at Pepper with a smile. "Miss Virginia Potts – you'll join me, won't you? How about we get a few calls going? I can't exactly dial right now, obviously." He moved his arms slightly, looking decidedly like a mummy as he tried to move. "My voice still works, though. I'm going to tell off a few people for not making my house ICBM-proof, and then I'm going to get some good brains on the replacement."

"Sounds like you'll be up in no time," Harry said after a moment, standing up and stretching. "You know, we're probably lucky that you can't move your arms right now. By the end of the week you'd be careening through the sky in a flying wheelchair or something." He smirked at Pepper. "Make sure that the new house is big enough for Tony's ego, would you?"

"You're invited, of course," Tony said immediately, and even Pepper seemed mildly surprised at the outburst. "I forgot that my place was kind of yours too, these days," he added sheepishly. " Bruce can come too. Sif can be there for added sex appeal. Ow – Pepper, I'm already hurting here! Besides, I said  _added_ , your own counts as well – hey!"

Harry sighed. Yeah, despite being beaten up and nursing broken bones, Tony was fine. He wasn't sure if he could say the same about himself, even though he was physically intact; the few wounds he'd gotten along the way had healed up easily enough. His mind kept wandering back to Tarleton, though, to that horrified scream. He could justify it - he could always justify something like that, he would never attempt it without a damn good reason in the first place - but he couldn't forget it. First he'd killed, if accidentally. Now he had tortured, willingly, invaded someone's privacy in the nastiest way possible. He rather hoped the trend would not continue.

The Helicarrier's many hallways were still a bit of a mystery to him, and Harry wandered past a few rooms tiredly, wondering what he would do, now. Yes, the immediate threat of A.I.M. had been defeated, their missile shot down. He was sure that Tarleton would be very surprised by the turn of events, by the fact that a ragtag group had stopped a plan that would probably have succeeded otherwise. On the other hand, Harry was well aware it was a symptom. Tarleton hadn't been working alone, hadn't been the top of the food chain.

As he crossed into a large hallway, he spotted Bruce; he sat at the head of a long table, tapping on a small handheld computer with one hand, while brushing the other over a part of his scalp that had no hair left - it'd been burned right off. Sif was right next to him, resting her head on her arms and looking at him with half-lidded eyes.

"Pepper's with him," Harry muttered as he slipped into a chair next to Bruce, sighing deeply.

"Again?" Bruce observed. "That's three times in two days. You'd think those two were a little more than boss and assistant."

Harry shrugged idly, glancing at Sif. He'd leave speculation of that nature to others, after his own less than stellar track record. "So – did you manage to get things cleared up?"

"Agent Tyler will be buried with honour," she confirmed, looking away. "I requested Asgardian funeral rites, and I will arrange those as soon as I am able. I – promised."

Harry nodded slowly. He'd learned the details of the pilot's death from Tony. He'd seemed subdued about it, and Sif had been even more so. She'd been there, hoping he could come by and save the man, but Harry hadn't known. Not that he could have done as much as the others seemed to think; he was no healer. Tyler had died through sheer bad luck. He wished he could still use the Resurrection Stone, that he could give the man a few last moments with his family, perhaps. But he knew he couldn't justify it. People would die senselessly, and even if they were strangers to him he couldn't live with that knowledge.

"The backup from Asgard didn't work out, I take it," Harry said after a moment.

"I do not know why Heimdall did not send help," Sif admitted softly. "Perhaps he felt it unnecessary, or he could not hear my pleas. I will speak to him and find out the truth." She frowned, then. "Seidmadr- there is something that concerns me, about what happened in the battle."

"Oh?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"The captive we returned - he has been driven to the edge of madness," she said at last. "It is as if the worst of pains have been inflicted upon him, yet there is no sign of wounds. What happened to him?"

Bruce sat up straighter, glancing between Sif and him with a frown.

"That was my doing," Harry admitted, finally. "Time was running short, I didn't have much of a choice. I - took the memories that Tarleton had, memories of missiles. I hoped that I could stop them."

"Such talents were considered anathema, once," Sif said softly. "Control of minds, to steal thoughts, those were high crimes among the Seidhr of old..."

"I know, I'm fully aware it's illegal," Harry answered. "I had to do  _something,_ though. I had to know what he knew, force him to talk. If I had a potion like Veritaserum I would've used it, but I didn't. He would hardly tell of his own free will. I had to take it." He looked at Sif sadly. "I can't promise I'll never do it again - but I can promise that I'll never do it to any of you."

When he'd finally landed on the deck fo the Helicarrier, Fury'd come out to meet Harry on the deck. Tarleton's unconscious form had only just arrived as Clint and Natasha returned to the base, and they didn't know much about what happened. Even after talking around it for a few minutes, Harry realized that he couldn't shrug it off and hope that Fury wouldn't notice. So he'd explained what he'd done, given a very rudimentary description.

Fury had looked horrified by the very idea, staring at Harry with such intensity that it was positively uncomfortable. He'd only mentioned the incident briefly, but he'd noticed that guard details for his person had doubled, and few of the newly assigned personnel would meet his gaze. It wasn't a surprise, really. Someone who could rip secrets right out of someone's head was probably the worst possible scenario for a spy organization.

First he'd snuck on board, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had responded by hiding their files better, somewhere out of the way or counter-intuitive. Now, though, they didn't even have that to rely on. If Harry really wanted, he could tear knowledge from anyone's mind, and Fury knew it. Harry effectively destroyed any security that the man might have felt around him, and dialed up his paranoia to ridiculous levels.

Harry thought of the memories he'd gained from this whole affair, wondering if they were worth the suspicious glances, the nervous looks from Bruce and Tony. Those memories he'd seen still stood out to him vividly. He'd seen Death– had Tarleton met her, too? Was it a twisted memory, or perhaps one of his own had slipped in? The terrible face stood out to him too, though he could barely remember the details. He'd need to get his Pensieve later, to analyse all the details. Above all, though, he thought about the fearlessness that Tarleton had displayed, before he found out about Legilimency first-hand. He was a pawn, like all the others.

This wasn't over. The missing scientists hadn't been anywhere in the base, and Harry knew effectively nothing about whoever commanded Tarleton. Something was horribly off, someone was pulling the strings where he couldn't see them. Unbidden he thought of Brian Banner, the shade he'd called, unwittingly condemning someone to death with the act.  _"She will know, now. If she comes for you, he will follow."_

He couldn't shake the terrible feeling that any celebration would be premature.

* * *

"Do you have it? Do you have the sample?"

Emil Blonsky nodded sharply. "Some scrapings have been sent to the labs already. This is the last of it." He held up a small vial.

"Scraped from burning wreckage - rather different than intended, but I suppose it will do," General Ross said, picking up the vial gingerly "Well now, we will see how a Magician ticks, won't we?"

Ross turned quickly, striding out of the room, hand clasped around the vial. The label on the vial read:  _"Project Scotty. Smple 1, BLD."_ Blonsky quickly followed, and the room was left behind, forgotten.

Loki smiled deviously, looking after the General with veiled disgust. These humans wouldn't find anything, of course. They would experiment and they would test, but in the end it would be foolish. A waste of time. They had no way of unlocking the true power of blood. He twirled the little vial around in his hand, smiling at it. The one in Ross' breast pocket wouldn't last, but that was of no concern; he would forget he ever had it during the night.

Now he had it. The blood of a sorcerer - a fantastic tool. A potent way to find that which was hidden.

Yes, things were going to get interesting.


	25. Low Key

Harry fidgeted nervously as he sat in the gray, unadorned little room, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table. He had been asked to wait, but it was becoming increasingly hard not to sketch pictures in the sky with his wand from boredom – he could already hear Tony's jokes from here, and the man really didn't need any more ammunition.

It was a bit odd, Harry thought, that it took a full day before anyone got around to questioning him about anything more than the bare bones of the events in Chile. Oh, he was sure that Clint and Natasha had been interviewed the moment they had returned, but they had only seen half of what happened, if that. Tony wasn't talking – Harry suspected that Fury actually went a little easier than he would have on account of the injuries that he had sustained despite the Iron Man suit. Bruce and Sif – well, Bruce's memories were hazy at best, and Sif had other things on her mind. That left him, of course. Figured.

Finally, after what felt like  _hours,_  the door opened. Director Fury grabbed a chair and sat down across the table without a word. After turning a few pages of a rather thick stack of paper, he looked up, staring him straight in the eye. It was as if the man was daring him to use Legilimency, and Harry smiled slightly.

"Not afraid I'll do what I did again _,_ then?"

"Why did you refrain from mentioning something that – and I will say this as kindly as I can – completely cuts the legs from under any operational security?" He ruffled through his papers quickly, his piercing eye glancing up occasionally. "Yesterday, I had to call an emergency meeting with my superiors, laying out exactly what I'd found out. I trust that you understand this is highly unusual."

Harry didn't quite know what to say to that.

"As of this morning, you are officially considered as one of the most dangerous people that we have a file on," Fury said after a moment. "Your status as a consultant is up for review – as well as our association with you in its entirety. Already one of my superiors is pressuring me to remove you from S.H.I.E.L.D. premises immediately."

Harry sighed. "You want me out of here, don't you?"

"I told him he could shove it." Fury shrugged. "Would it really work, if I kicked you off? You have the annoying tendencies of going wherever you please, whenever you please. We both know that the risk of you stealing important documents exists whether you are employed or not."

"You know, this paranoia thing you guys have going on is getting to me. When have I  _ever_  done anything to hurt any of you?"

"You nearly lobotomized someone from a distance," Fury said darkly. "You have shown to be capable of compromising literally anyone, of getting any information that anyone might know merely by being in their proximity." He shook his head. "Any trust we might have built up is useless to people who don't know your personality. You could have lifted all the information you have directly from unwilling minds."

"Aren't you going a bit far with this?" Harry asked. "I used Legilimency  _only_ because millions of people were going to be killed. Honestly, I didn't even kill him. I would've never told you if I knew there would be this much fuss..."

"It's a valid defense – had you admitted to this particular ability ahead of time," Fury said. "That  _might_  have given you the benefit of the doubt for some. Right now, though, the reaction is understandably panicked." Fury tapped the thick stack of papers on his desk. "This is your personal file, incidentally. It contains every sighting, observation, and field report from every day since you were originally spotted."

"...So?"

"It is completely useless, now," Fury said simply. "Your file contains nothing but vague reports of possible skills, most of which you have only displayed once. Long lists of speculations, scientific explanations, you name it. Now, there are even more to add. Flying broomsticks, for one, and  _reading minds._ Perhaps implanting thoughts, or even controlling them. Who knows?" He paused for a moment. "You just got yourself on the watch list of more than just S.H.I.E.L.D. with that stunt, and the missile part, though laudable, is probably not going to counter that."

"You actually seem to be on my side," Harry said after a minute. "I thought you hated me?"

"You're too useful to hate," Fury said immediately. "You are the best chance I have, even after this disaster. Although it will take time, I believe I will be successful in turning heads back towards important issues, and away from questioning allies. Until the day you directly move against us, at least."

Harry nodded, actually a bit relieved. When he had chosen to use Legilimency, he hadn't expected this kind of inquisition.

"Now – I want to know what you are. I have been tolerant of evasions before, but this latest addition tips the scale." He frowned, tapping the file. "Alien?"

"Yes," Harry snapped exasperatedly. "I'm an alien from the planet Hogwarts, and I'm the last of my kind, who was sent here as a child to eventually rule over all human beings." He rolled his eyes when Fury just stared at him. "Some kind folks took me in, and I chose to love puppies and flowers instead. Is any of this sounding vaguely believable?"

Fury sighed.

"No, of course I'm not a bloody alien," Harry finally said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Why does everyone  _always_  go directly for that explanation? I have never even been away from Earth. I'm a  _wizard_."

Fury was silent for a long moment. "Wizards," Fury said at last, shaking his head. "Magic is real?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Harry said. "You know, you people have a skewed idea of normalcy. Flying robot suits – fine. People turning into ten-foot green giants - fine. Aliens from another planet – fine. Wizards? Oh no, now we're getting into loony territory!"

Fury sighed. "So, what, you just throw  _magic_  around and that causes things to happen? Am I going to have to throw away all of the scientific studies into your abilities?"

"If they're assuming that magic works by the laws of physics, probably." Harry tried. "I've been saying the same thing to Tony for ages... You Muggles have such a narrow imagination."

Fury shook his head, scowling at the huge file in front of him. "Magic. Honestly." He looked up with a grave expression. "I hope you don't mind if I keep that particular claim from other people. I believe they would consider me mad. They can 'liken' it to magic all they like."

"I can always turn them into rats if they won't believe it," Harry offered.

Fury narrowed his eyes, seeming to consider the proposition for a moment. "Would it kill them?"

"Not really, but they might end up with a lasting love for cheese and old bread," Harry admitted. "My human transfiguration's rather unpracticed, honestly. Once thought about becoming an Animagus, but that didn't work out." At Fury's puzzled frown, he shrugged. "Means you can change into an animal."

"Ah." Fury said. "These - spells of yours. Can you kill with those?"

"Anyone can kill," Harry said immediately. " _You_  just use a bullet to do it. You're probably a lot quicker to use such a weapon, too." At the look he received, Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, if I really had to, I could kill just about anything. I know how, at least. Don't like doing that."

"Mind-control?"

"Yes," Harry said, looking away. "Haven't done that in a few years, though, and I'd rather avoid it. A strong will can fight it off, even a Muggle one, so you'd probably be fine."

Fury's eyes twitched as he watched Harry like a hawk. "Anything you  _can't_  do?"

"Can't raise the dead," Harry said easily. He certainly wasn't going to bring the Hallows into things. "I can't conjure money either, or love, or a couple other things. Still have a human body, if a bit sturdier, so it's not like I can't be hurt at all. Oh, and I can't fly – well, not without a broom, anyway." He narrowed his eyes. "I wonder how difficult it could be, if Snape could figure that out? He didn't strike me as the type to spend much time practicing charms..."

"Mr. Callahan," Fury said sternly.

Harry blinked, and smiled. "That's still my official name, then? Fun. Anyway, transfiguring huge things is hard, especially if it only goes halfway. Things can get... messy. There's plenty of other limits, I'm sure, but I'd have to write them down."

Fury nodded. "One more question, then – and I can't believe I have to ask this. Can you  _die_?"

Harry shivered as the cloaked figure of Death instantly shot through his mind. He couldn't help thinking of Voldemort either. He had been struck down by the Killing Curse, and met Professor Dumbledore in that white place, that train station. He had gotten up from that curse for the second time in his life. Then the crazy gambit that brought him here had happened, which probably counted as the third time he had avoided death. Hermione would have put riding a nuclear missile on the list, too – it'd been close enough, anyway.

"I don't know," Harry heard himself say, and it was the honest truth. After all the misses so far, he had no clue anymore.

Fury stared at him blankly. "You don't know."

"It didn't take the first few times I died," Harry explained lightly, scratching the back of his head. "I guess I can, probably. I don't intend to find that out soon, if you don't mind."

The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. stood rather quickly, shoving the file under his arm. He quickly snatched a telephone out of his pocket, and put it on the table. "Keep it on you – I'm well aware how technology may react in your presence. When I need your presence, I'll call you."

"Want me to get out of your hair for a while, right?" He paused. "Well, if you had any."

"Just take it."

Harry slipped the gadget into his pouch, next to the other one. "I hadn't really intended to stick around up here, anyway. I'll see if I can find someplace to go."

Fury nodded sharply, and hesitated. "If I find you mind-controlling  _anyone –_ I'm putting you on the kill list."

Harry sighed wearily. "Yes, sir."

* * *

There was something wonderful about looking down on the ocean from miles above it, while dangling one's feet over the edge. The sun was shimmering brightly on the water, and Harry spent a few minutes just enjoying the breeze, trying to forget all the mess of the last few days. It was actually working a little, remarkably enough.

Being back on the Helicarrier felt different, this time. The first day back had been hectic and annoying, and he had spent most of his time walking back and forth from Tony in the infirmary to Bruce, brooding wherever he could find a place to do it. Then there had been his meeting with Fury, and that just got him even more annoyed.

People had given him wary glances – the rumours had gotten around, it seemed – and Harry was reminded uncomfortably of his second year at Hogwarts, when everyone had seemed convinced that he was going to snap and do something horrible at any moment since they believed him the heir of Slytherin. It had gotten him into a bit of a foul mood since people seemed, as usual, far more interested in concentrating on that than in the death-defying stunts that he had pulled off to down the missile before it would have killed them all. Only Tony had seemed at all unbothered by what he had done to Tarleton, repeatedly mentioning that the awesome he had done far outweighed it. He supposed he was glad there was  _someone_ on his side.

When he had finally had enough of all of it, he had just walked right past the guards that were supposed to be keeping an eye on him and had taken his new broom for an extended flight, to try and clear his head. Rather than scare him away from flying, his insane ride on the back of a nuke had just reignited a part of him that he had almost forgotten, a part that could only ever be at home in the sky. He couldn't have Quidditch here, with only one player, but at least he still had a broom. If he hadn't brought one, he probably would have ended up begging Tony for a suit of his own, just to get back into the sky.

"Somehow I figured you'd avoid high places, after what happened," Bruce commented lightly, approaching with his hands in his pockets as he glanced around the deck of the Helicarrier. "It's nice out, actually. Didn't expect that."

"I like the heights," Harry said, smiling. "Flying helps me calm down. I figure you know how important that can be."

Bruce smirked. "Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the Earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return."

"That sounds about right."

"Leonardo da Vinci," Bruce said, smiling. "Well – maybe. I think the sentiment holds true, considering the wonder with which I've heard even Tony mention it…"

Harry nodded, dragging his feet back onto solid ground, in as far as a flying aircraft carrier could be considered such. "So, you've finally gotten out of that stuffy lab? What, did they kick you out for doing all their work for them?"

Bruce rolled his eyes, shrugging. "Tony, of course."

"Ah." Harry smirked knowingly, setting off along the side of the deck, the Cloudskimmer vanishing into his pouch somewhere along the way. "He's driving everyone up the wall, I think. Immobilizing someone as addicted to work as him was going to be a mess, that's not a surprise. I really think that giving him a phone was a  _bad_  idea."

"He's been badgering Fury to give him a workshop," Bruce responded. "Of course, the Director doesn't want him anywhere  _near_ the computers now. I imagine he believes a bored Tony would mess with his head, just for fun. He's probably right."

Harry smiled, and glanced at Bruce knowingly. "So... I'm curious. I hear you and Sif had a moment?"

Bruce coloured immediately, raising an eyebrow. "That was back in Chile – and it was the other guy. Not me. I don't know how but... I guess something about her got through to it. We had a talk, before the crash, that might have had something to do with it." He looked at Harry with something that could have been guilt, or pity, and Harry wasn't sure he liked it. "For a while, I was  _there,_ you know _._ Hulk, yes, but – not. It's hard to explain. I had some control."

"Sif's feminine wiles got through to the brute?" Harry asked jokingly.

"No, no." Bruce got very silent for a while. "No, there's only one who could do something like that, I think, and I haven't seen her in a long time. Maybe I'll figure out a way, now that I am... safer. I don't... I don't think I would harm her, like I did then."

"I see," Harry responded, wondering what about Sif had reached the Hulk, then. Her being an Asgardian, perhaps? Pondering that, he frowned. "So, what's the name of this other girl?"

"Betty. Betty Ross," Bruce said. "Perhaps, now that S.H.I.E.L.D. is actually on my side, I could find her again. Explain a few things."

Harry just walked with the doctor, thinking of all the people he had left behind. He wasn't going to have a reunion like that – not any time soon. Then again, he didn't really need it as much. Bruce had desperately needed those short moments with his father, even if they hadn't been the heartwarming stuff he might have wished for. Now there was his girlfriend, Harry surmised, and she was still alive.

"You should find her number," Harry suggested. "I'm sure that Tony knows how to do that. Call her up, ask her how she's doing. Invite her over to the new place – well, you'll have to wait till it's built, but you know what I mean." He grinned. "Perhaps you could fill her in on the heroism you've been up to?"

"She's seen the news, I'm sure," Bruce said, shuddering. "She's only seen the raging monster, the brute. She's seen me smashing up L.A. and punching you around." He glanced away sadly. "And then there's her father, the general."

Harry strolled over to one of the planes that were set up on the flight deck; it would be leaving soon, or it would be downstairs somewhere. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has some weight to throw around, Bruce. The army's not crazy enough to come get you, here. You're protected, like me, even from the likes of a general."

"Legally," Bruce said, snorting. "Not like that ever stopped Ross. I don't want to sit behind a bunch of guns and steel plates for the rest of my life, hoping that I'll be left alone."

"Then don't," Harry said. "You have the rest of us, don't you? Do you think we'd just let it go if someone came to take you away?"

Bruce frowned, but didn't say anything.

"I know that you'd rather disappear back into your obscure jungle paradise, get away from all this again and bury the other guy as deeply as you can," he said, and smiled sadly at Bruce's surprised look. "I've told you before, I knew someone that wasn't so very different from you. Even though he feared what he could do, he didn't let it stop him."

"The werewolf," Bruce said, nodding. "It's a crazy idea that they're real _._ "

Harry just gave him an impatient look. "My point is that you can do a lot of good, and I figured you should know that. Same as Remus. I'm pretty sure that, except for Tony, I'm the only reason you even stick around. I think you need to get used to the idea that you're no longer on the run."

"There are people hurting in the poor countries, and I could help. With the other guy reined in a little, perhaps I could live a normal life out there, even. I don't have to be  _running._  I could just live my life."

"Possibly," Harry acknowledged. "I said much the same thing, actually, when I got here." He smiled wryly. "For a while, I didn't have a care in the world. Then I ran across Tony, and that led me to S.H.I.E.L.D. and from there it was straight on to you. Things haven't exactly gotten any calmer since then."

"You've noticed how people look at you, haven't you?" Bruce asked suddenly. At Harry's confused nod, he looked away. "You could say I'm the expert on that sort of thing.  _Everyone_  looks at me that way. And – for good reason. Out there, nobody knows me. People just see me as a helpful foreigner, and it helps keep me calm, the anonymity. Here, the other guy is so close to the surface, and people have no problem reminding me of that fact..."

"If someone were to walk up to you with a raised wand plainly visible in his hand, you would feel threatened," Harry said calmly. He paused briefly. "Well, replace wand with gun, I guess. Even if someone who does that might not harm you, it will keep feeling like a threat – but not forever. After a while, it just becomes a quirk, something peculiar." He raised his wand. "Some of us have more choice than others about how threatening we come across, and it takes time before people to adapt to that. Stick around, and they'll stop staring. I promise."

Bruce shrugged.

"I doubt you'd get very far, even if you did leave," Harry said after a moment. "Have you thought about what happened out there, in Chile? You know what we did, there? We stopped a  _nuclear bomb_. Now, I'm hardly an expert on what the thing would have done, but you  _are._  You know how many people survive because of us."

"Millions." Bruce crossed his arms, shaking his head. "You took the missile down, Harry. With fireworks, of all things – the most remarkable ones I've ever seen. How the hell did you get that idea, anyway?"

"Explosive to explosive, it's easier to transfigure," Harry said tiredly. "The more similar the objects, the easier, that's how it was thought. I think it has more to do with how you personally think about the objects than their actual similarity, otherwise a pincushion to hedgehog transfiguration would probably be a lot tougher." He frowned. "That wasn't the point, was it? You were there, fighting alongside the rest of us. You took out that shield generator thing, didn't you? Without your help, we wouldn't have made it. You know that – and if something like this happens again..."

"I suppose you're right. So, what? You want me to keep doing this kind of thing? Is that what you see yourself doing a year from now? Five years?"

"If I have to," Harry replied easily. "Bruce, you smashed the hell out of that terrorist facility, and you were the reason that Tony and I even had a shot at taking down A.I.M.'s missile. Don't claim you didn't enjoy that feeling of elation when you turned back, and the Hulk had finally listened to you. I've heard plenty from Sif, you know." Harry turned aside, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Sometimes it feels like all this is inevitable, that gathering all these extraordinary people together is the world's way of preparing for something bad. If that's even remotely the case, then how can you stay out of it? I certainly can't."

"I never bought into the idea of a predetermined future," Bruce replied tersely. "So, what, the next time something like this comes up, we do this whole thing again? Since when are we a police force?"

Harry shrugged. "Earth's mightiest heroes kind of thing, doesn't sound too bad. Who else is going to do it? You know that this isn't over, and you could save a  _lot_ of people. S.H.I.E.L.D. might be nervous about me, but they'll call me when something comes up again. Are you any different?" He smiled. "Tell me, Bruce. If people were in danger, if the world needed your help, and you knew about it - would you be there?"

Bruce's shoulders sagged. "Yes."

* * *

Sif's sword slashed out viciously, and Harry could only barely contain his instinct to jump back as far as he could. The metal beam she had severed dropped to the floor in two pieces, neatly cut in half right in the middle.

"Didn't know you were here," Harry commented as he approached carefully. "Since when do you do sword training down here?"

Sif looked over with a shrug. "I have not spent much time perfecting my skills since I came to Midgard," she admitted. "Unfortunately, there is no true training ground for anything but projectile weapons on this vessel. I have had to... improvise."

"I see. You're sort of messing up the ship, though." Looking aroudn at all the chopped-up metal, Harry pulled out his wand. " _Reparo._ "

Severed parts of beams and metal columns rocketed back to their own place, crisscrossing in between each other effortlessly, the damage from Sif's sword vanishing as they ended up where they belonged, melding seamlessly back into their places. As he finished, Harry let out a long breath. With his own wand, this kind of magic was actually a bit exhausting to keep up, but he would rather not get dependent on the power of the Elder Wand all the time.

Sif smiled as she looked at his handiwork, sheathing her sword. "What brings you here?"

"Ah... I heard you might be leaving."

Sif looked away at that. "You heard correctly. I wish to journey back to Asgard for a time. Heimdall has not responded to my calls, which is unusual. Either someone is veiling me from him, or something is wrong in Asgard itself. Either way, I believe it is important that I return."

Harry sighed. "Just as I was getting used to having you around..."

"I will return here, of course," Sif promised, smiling. "I have given my word to help you, and I will not break it. Perhaps I can convince the Warriors Three to join me here. Their characters are questionable, but they certainly fight well."

"So, are you finally getting used to us earthlings, then?" Harry wondered, smiling. "What changed since you came here? It hasn't been that long, after all."

Sif looked away, and didn't answer. Finally she sighed, and turned back towards him. "Of all the realms, yours is least visited by our kind – and I believe it is a mistake. For this world also calls home some of the most honourable people I have yet met, and some who would certainly greatly intrigue the scholars among my people."

"Glad to know," Harry said. "So, you'll put in a good word for us, then?"

"If I can manage it." She sighed as she walked closer. "I may be gone for weeks. You will not have a guard in that time. Take care whom you meet, and whom you trust. Seek guidance from Asgard, should you not know which course to take, if the dangers are too sudden, too great. I will see to it that Heimdall answers you – and if not him, then I shall do so."

Harry nodded confidently as Sif reached for her side. She pulled a vicious-looking knife from her belt, nearly thirty centimeters long and curved. After looking at it for a moment, she flipped it over – Harry could barely follow the speed – and extended it to Harry with the hilt first.

"Take this, to defend yourself. It is crafted from Asgardian metals – it will resist a great deal of stress, should it be required. Use it well."

Harry looked at it with a frown. "A knife? What would I do with a knife?"

"One generally plants the pointy end into the enemy," Sif said dryly, then smiled. "I crafted this one myself, decades ago," she added after a moment. "Keep it as assurance that I will return here, for I would not lose such a valuable creation."

Harry didn't quite know what to say, slipping the knife into his pouch for the time being. "Thanks, I suppose. I don't really use a knife..."

Sif shrugged. "Keep an eye on it. I do not easily lend my weapons to others, for I fear to lose it. I believe that, as your chatty friend told me, 'need all the help you can get'."

"Thanks, Tony," Harry muttered irritably. "Perhaps, if it is so powerful, you should keep it."

"No. I entrust it to you," Sif said after a moment, her eyes filled with something that Harry couldn't quite identify. "If you feel that you are in danger – use it. I would not have you die in my absence."

"I'll try not to," Harry said weakly.

Sif smiled. "Good. If you dare to fail, I will rip you from the icy plains of Hel myself."

Harry'd frozen in mid-step, his eyes wide. For a long moment it seemed like everything had stopped. Harry's mind was going a million miles a minute. Had he just heard... "What did you just say?"

"Merely a joke," she said lightly, suddenly looking confused at Harry's look of concentration. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"The icy plains of Hel? What do you mean by that?"

"Hel, it is the realm of the dead," Sif said slowly, blinking. "It is said that it is a great plain of ice with many rivers, in which the dead sleep. Only a few have ever seen it and lived, among them the All-Father. It is guarded by a great..."

"Wolf," Harry finished softly. Not Hell – Hel, the Norse afterlife. That's where he had met Death. It suddenly made sense – and yet not. Did that mean Asgardians were really gods? Were there multiple afterlives? Had Death simply used it for convenience's sake, or had there been a reason for it? He blinked, shaking his head. "Sorry – I've been wondering where I heard the term, and when you mentioned it, I remembered," he said softly. He wasn't ready to begin  _that_ discussion. "Anyway - I won't die, I promise."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I'm not good at it anyway."

Sif nodded slowly. "Keep the dagger safe. When you see me again, I will ask how you have used it. I hope your answer will be good."

Harry just looked on nervously as Sif smiled wickedly and finally left, leaving him to his thoughts. For a moment he wanted to run after her, to ask her if he could come to Asgard, to figure this out. He sighed, deciding to put that thought aside, for the moment. With one part of his vision of Death explained, his thoughts turned to others. Soon he found himself heading towards the infirmary, his thoughts returning to the dagger that Sif had given him. Why had he received a weapon like that? For what did she believe he would need it?

* * *

"Ah, if it isn't our supreme sorcerer," Tony said lightly. He drove slowly forward, controlling the wheelchair with his foot. "Come to liberate me from the horrors of the infirmary, at last?"

Harry shrugged, glancing around. He could use a distraction, right about now. "Nobody's around to stop us. Why not."

Tony rolled after the wizard with as much speed as he could manage. Harry held open the doors to let him through, finally relaxing when they got a few halls away. Tony raised an eyebrow. "Bad experiences with the nurses? You seem terrified one might show up. They're nice, you know. Remarkably tender, for this place."

"Tony..." Harry glanced back a last time. "I have the irrational belief that Madam Pomfrey will come around the corner at any moment and send me back to one of those beds." He shivered. "She was the kindest and worst nurse you could have, back at my school. I always got myself into heaps of trouble, so I was in her care far too often for comfort."

"I'm somehow not surprised. So, this Madam Pomfrey, are we a talking about a sort of witchdoctor?"

Harry blinked. "Well, she's a witch – and I suppose a doctor, if you want to use the Muggle term. I'm pretty sure that a witchdoctor is something else, though." He scratched the back of his head. "I've never really thought about it – preferred to think about what to do to get out of her clutches, usually."

Tony shrugged, wincing as his arms protested against the movement. "I'd never appreciated just how annoying it can be to have broken arms. It really cuts into productivity, and a few other things." He let out a long sigh. "Pepper's been helping out with about half a dozen different things, but it's not the same. She wouldn't even give me a sponge bath!"

"You know, sometimes I wonder if everything is a joke to you," Harry commented as he looked over the flowers next to Tony's bed curiously. "Secret admirer?"

Tony glanced over lazily. "Not really. I had Pepper fetch them for me from the next room. Really ties the room together though, don't you think?"

"You really need to get out of here," Harry said simply, shaking his head. "Of course, you're probably the only billionaire right now that's technically homeless..."

"I might have a few houses somewhere, but that's not interesting, is it?" Tony complained. "The foundation for my new place is already prepared, and with the kind of money I can put into it, that building will be standing in a couple months. I will probably survive without a huge bed until then."

"Right. Your skyscraper," Harry said. "Is it just for the view, or so you don't have to smash through a bunch of floors to get outside, this time?"

Tony narrowed his eyes. "You never did fix that, did you? Well – I suppose it wouldn't have mattered."

Harry smirked. "I talked to Bruce, earlier. I think there's a pretty good shot that he'll take you up on your offer."

"Oh, I know he will," Tony answered immediately. "The top ten floors of my new place? All research and development. It'll be like nerd heaven with unbreakable walls as a bonus." He paused. "Well, if you're up for that, anyway. I am tempted to add a few features that aren't technically possible within the known laws of physics – give Hammer something to scratch his head about."

"I will help you, as long as I get a room of my own," Harry noted.

"Room? More like floor!"

Harry smiled. "Yes, well, don't be too surprised if it vanishes from your blueprints at some point. Anyway – with Clint and Natasha going back to their jobs and Bruce and Sif going on personal errands, you'll be on your own for a bit, since Fury wants me off this boat. You'll stick around with S.H.I.E.L.D. for now?"

"Well, I'd like to figure out a few things," Tony said. "Who exactly was behind this whole thing, for one. This Tarleton fellow is all well and good, but I doubt he was the end of it. Then there's the technology. If I can reverse-engineer what's left of it, can you imagine how useful it could be? Functional force field technology that's powerful enough to knock planes out of the sky?"

"Yeah, I don't know a thing about that." Harry paused. "There is something you might be able to help me with. I have been trying to use the computers to find someone, but I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Who?"

Harry blinked. "I don't know his name, just his face. I hoped I could narrow it down with that, but..."

"Do you have a picture? Jarvis, do we still have access to the mainframe?"

" _A copy of myself remains dormant, indeed."_

Harry blinked. "Did he just say –"

"Yes. Don't tell Fury. So – let's see this mystery person, then. If he's in the database, Jarvis will find him." He glared at his arms. "I'd do it myself, but it seems my joints have rusted."

Harry rolled his eyes, rummaging through his pouch. He retrieved his Pensieve and put it on the table next to Tony's bed, placing his wand to his temple as Tony looked on curiously. The memory Harry had picked descended into the bowl and swirled there innocently. A shiver ran down his back as he recalled those moments in what he now knew to be Hel, per Sif's description. Right now, only one part mattered.

"I hope that's not brain matter," Tony said softly, looking vaguely disgusted.

"Don't be silly," Harry said. He had seen this trick done before. Dumbledore had made the memory appear above the Pensieve, in his office. Prodding the silver a little, it suddenly ballooned out of the bowl, forming into a translucent image that spun very slowly in the air.

"Since when do  _you_  have holograms?"

Harry ignored Tony in favour of the image. There floated the image of a slightly pudgy older man, a small tuft of white hair left on his balding scalp and a pair of old-fashioned glasses perched on his nose. He had a small smile on his face, though his eyes were closed, and there were spots of blood across his neck, with a wound in his chest that looked rather more serious than Harry thought it'd been. He looked at the the slowly rotating figure and could feel his anger grow again. His anger at Death, if she indeed spoke the truth about that, who had enforced the rules before explaining them.

"I figured you were talking about some hot girl you wanted to call up," Tony said after a moment, then he took in how tense Harry was, how he looked at the image with pain plainly visible in his eyes. "Ah. Family?" he asked after a few moments, much softer than before.

"No," Harry said, staring. "It's a personal thing. I made a mistake, and this man... I need to know who he is. Who he  _was_. So I can fix things."

Tony looked over the floating image with concern. "I could ask a ton of questions right now, but you're clearly not in the mood. Fine – if you think it's important, I'll go with that. Jarvis, can you start the search based on this image?"

" _Yes. I should be able to trace him or close relatives based on facial features,"_  Jarvis responded immediately _. "The three-dimensional nature of the construct should allow for higher precision. Processing now. It will take approximately ninety minutes."_

"There we go," Tony said.

"Thank you," Harry said after a moment. He deactivated the Pensieve, quickly slipping the memory back into his head, shuddering slightly at the sensation.

"Again, if that was brain matter, don't tell me. I just ate."

Harry rubbed a hand through his hair, sighing. "I'll be off later tonight, I think."

"Sure. I'll give you a call the moment I get out of here. I want you to help out with a few other things." Tony stretched his leg tiredly. "Wheeling around is exhausting, by the way."

Harry rolled his eyes, silently pulling out his wand. The wheelchair began rolling on its own, and Tony sighed as he leaned back. Then he started floating, hovering half a meter off the ground, bobbing after Harry who smirked over his shoulder.

"You know, if Fury sees this, he'll probably get on  _my_  case for building stuff he said I couldn't," Tony pointed out just as Jarvis spoke up.

" _You have a call waiting, sir."_

Tony blinked, turning his head slightly. "Patch it through, Jarvis." There was a momentary silence. "Ah – it's you, Elon. Hey, I figured you'd call back after the message I left. Yes, you're right, those numbers were accurate. Listen... I have a proposal for you."

* * *

"You're  _leaving_?" Natasha asked disbelievingly. "What about Dr. Banner, or the others? Didn't you all live in that fancy house of Stark's that got wrecked?"

"I did apologize for doing that," Harry said. "How could I have known that it was going to land  _there?_  Anyway, Bruce, Tony and Sif can take care of themselves. With S.H.I.E.L.D. on the job of tracking down whoever was behind A.I.M.'s plans, we have a bit of relative peace. I don't think it's weird that everyone is considering a little rest and relaxation. Fury figures it's best if I make myself scarce for a while, too."

"So that finally gave you time for our drink?" Natasha teased, raising her glass. She glanced out of the huge window that looked out over the deck of the Helicarrier, and smiled. "I didn't think you'd ever get to this, honestly."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose I've been busy." He leaned back in his chair. "Same for you, I'm sure."

"Of course," Natasha said. "Sometimes it's nice to take a glass of good wine and watch the sun set, but I usually don't have the time for it. Too much work. Lately everyone has just been running and fighting and nobody gets a good night's sleep. Your appearance didn't help matters either."

"Fury told you to spy on me tonight, didn't he?" Harry observed. "That's how you suddenly had the evening off."

"I figured you wouldn't care." Natasha stretched, and Harry looked away with a blush as she revealed rather more midriff than he had expected. She seemed to notice his look, smiling knowingly. "So, tell me, how much of that stuff in Afghanistan was really you, Mr. Wizard?"

"All of it, of course," Harry responded immediately. "I enjoyed that, really. Especially when you were around, since your replacements were  _terrible_  conversationalists."

Natasha chuckled. "You know, the first week or so I was trying to figure out why you were so, well, unconcerned about me. I suspected you'd figured something out, but I couldn't make sure until you went and destroyed the bug I planted on you."

"I actually sort of shorted that thing out before I knew what it was," Harry admitted. "Anyway, I was pretty determined not to make any new enemies out there, and I honestly thought you were nice to hang out with. The whole spy thing was secondary." He narrowed his eyes. "Really, I should be asking you how much of you was real. You were the one who was acting, weren't you?"

"True enough," Natasha replied. "I've been going undercover for nearly as long as I can remember, so it was actually rather easy to slip into that role. The playful persona seemed appropriate given how casual you were about pretty much everything. I don't know how much she's like me – they sort of blend together after a while."

"You're more assertive now," Harry observed. "That's not a bad thing, actually. You don't laugh as much, though. You really should."

She shrugged. "I have had less to laugh about."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Same thing's true for some other people. Tony, for one. You know he's had a string of bad luck lately, right? He lost his mentor, his home, his mobility, and he almost bled to death not two days ago. Yet – he's smiling, and making big plans, you name it." Harry smiled, looking out over the deck below. "You should consider taking some pointers. I know that I'd like to have that kind of drive. Now, if you start referencing popular Muggle culture or making sarcastic engineering jokes, you've probably gone too far in the other direction."

Natasha didn't respond to that, but Harry could see the ever-so-slight smile as clear as day.

"There we go. Now all we need is for me to go hang out on the roof or go buy some dried monkey heads and we'll be golden." Harry leaned back with a grin as Natasha smiled warmly at the memory. "It  _was_  fun, wasn't it? Despite the whole spider and fly aspect?"

Natasha nodded. "It was work, but it felt different." She looked away tiredly. "I guess everything's going to get worse from here on, though. Every day it seems like some new crisis needs attention, some new problem rears its head. Peace is a long way off, now."

"Well, that's why we're here, right?" Harry said lightly. "Just a couple extraordinary people in an extraordinary world." He looked outside as the late afternoon slowly made way for dusk. "Speaking of extraordinary things – you wanted to see the sun set?"

"We're going the wrong way to see it here," Natasha answered. "Some other day, maybe."

"No, I have an idea. Come on." Harry walked to the window, tapping it lightly with his wand; the glass plate vanished into thin air. "I hope you're not afraid of heights," he joked as he retrieved the Cloudskimmer and jumped on it, hovering right next to the window. "Come now, there's plenty of space."

"Are you  _crazy_?" Natasha walked to the edge of the window, looking down, then at the rather flimsy-looking broom. "Do you know what would happen if I fell?"

Harry snorted. "Come on, you're braver than that." When she finally gingerly tried to get on, Harry levitated her right onto the back of his broom with a lazy wave of his wand. She let out a startled yelp, grabbing onto Harry's arms painfully in an attempt to steady herself. Harry wondered idly if that was going to be a trend for every time someone hitched a ride.

"Are you steady back there?"

Harry felt her nod against his back, and smiled as he slowly rose into the sky, passing the rest of the command tower slowly. "You can open your eyes, you know," Harry teased, and he guessed correctly, it seemed, as she straightened a little. Even someone experienced with airplanes was probably going to be freaked out by this, the first time _._ "It's not like I'm going to drop you."

Harry felt Natasha sit up straight behind him. He could hear her breath catch as he continued rising, slowly ascending through wisps of thin clouds until they were spread out below them, a vast sea of white stretching out around in all directions. The sun sank to the horizon in the distance, painting the sky in a vast number of colours, and Harry smiled as he finally felt Natasha loosen her grip. They floated forward slowly, keeping pace with the Helicarrier below them.

"When I'm way up here, it's crystal clear..." Natasha singsonged, and she chuckled. "You do this often, don't you? Just... go out flying. I'd certainly do it, if I could."

"A good idea, I'd say," Harry answered, circling slowly upwards. Slowly the dusk made way for night, the first stars twinkling in the sky.

Natasha hummed under her breath as Harry began to descend at last, keeping steady with only one hand. "You know, I wish I'd brought a camera. That was quite beautiful."

"You've got the memories," Harry replied, smiling. "Whenever you want to see them, let me know."

She sighed. "This magic of yours really is remarkable, isn't it?"

Harry smirked as he landed softly on the Helicarrier's deck. Oh, she had seen  _nothing_  yet.

* * *

"Director...?" Agent Triers called hesitantly. "I think we might have a problem."

Fury walked over quickly. "What is it?"

Triers gestured to his screen silently. A video was playing, depicting an explosion – a very familiar one. The streak of fire was barely recognizable, but the multi-coloured light show was unmistakable.

"Where did you get this?"

"The Internet, obviously," Triers said. "It got uploaded about two hours ago, and it's already mirrored a few times across several video sharing sites. I don't know who took the footage, but I suspect someone was on a boat nearby and got lucky. From out on the ocean, the explosion would have looked bright, even at its considerable altitude."

Fury scowled. "Fantastic. Why wasn't this caught earlier?"

Triers shrugged. "Our software can only recognize so much, and this is a completely different angle than our own footage, obviously. I only found it because it's listed as an explosion of an aircraft carrying a large amount of illegal fireworks, and it sounded familiar."

"Can we use that explanation as a cover?"

"I suppose," Triers said. "Of course – if better footage appears, we'd be in trouble. Perhaps...?"

"We can't tell the truth," Fury muttered. "You know what happened the last time a terrorist attack on the U.S. got in the news. Even if it  _was_  stopped, you know that people will be calling for the heads of every damn Chilean."

"Maybe," Triers agreed. "Of course, if we make sure to clarify that the terrorist responsible was a known threat that's already been captured, we could mitigate that. I don't see a reason to keep the involvement of Iron Man and the Magician in particular a secret, given that they're already in the news anyway. It would also further solidify their reputation."

Fury frowned. "I will consider such options. It would require that these 'heroes' get ready for another meeting with the press." He glanced at Triers. "Regardless of what happens, we cannot reveal the nuclear nature of this threat. "

"Of course not, sir. There is a small problem, though."

"Hmmm?"

"Harry's left, sir."

Fury sighed. "Of all the times he had listen to me... I'll call him later, then. I suppose he does deserve a bit of a break."

* * *

Harry stepped off the bus, giving a quick wave to the driver and blinking at the bright light coming from a flickering streetlight. He really should have thought of packing some money before he left; paying with Galleons was right out, and he had no clue how to use the credit card that Tony had given him. He could have sworn he had had more money, though. Well, here he was, as close to the centre of town as he could get, still miles and miles away from the taller buildings that he always saw on television shows.

He was, at last, in New York. Harry had gotten used to big cities since Los Angeles, but this was on yet another level: The city was absolutely huge. For lack of a better direction, he just headed towards the taller buildings, hoping he would come across a shop along the way where he could purchase a map. He shook his head dazedly, fumbling in his pocket for his wand, and thankfully it was still there. Granted, he had a spare, but he really wouldn't like to lose his original.

Tony had come back with a result for his search rather quickly; the man had lived in Queens, New York. The billionaire hadn't asked any questions, though his all too curious gaze as Harry flipped through the file he'd dug up told him enough; there was something peculiar here. This man - Benjamin - had been related to a S.H.I.E.L.D. employee, and Tony had jumped to a conclusion based on that; Harry just didn't know what that was. He had taken off as soon as he could, hoping that Fury would not find out what he had looked up before he got here - he did not want any interference.

Harry looked around himself, discouraged; it was clear that he would need a bit more time to figure out where he was going. This was the second time he was wandering around a big city like this with no clue where anything was, he reflected. The first time around S.H.I.E.L.D. had infected him with tiny robots to spy on him, and that all worked out in the end. Hopefully New York would be better than that.

The sun had already set, and Harry knew he would need to find someplace to sleep for the night, before he went to find Benjamin's family the next day. He hadn't figured out what he'd tell them yet, really, if anything. He needed a hotel, now. He walked on with his hands in his pockets, lazily passing a few small shops and some residences before he came to something more promising.

"The Wolf's Howl Hotel?" Harry murmured. "Hope that's not an omen. I hate omens." He quickly walked into a pleasantly decorated hallway that ended in a small room with a counter; a short Asian woman sat behind it, staring at her computer screen. She didn't even notice Harry until he was right next to her.

"A room for the night, please," Harry said easily. "If you have one."

"Of course, there is a bit of room left," the lady said with an accent that Harry couldn't hope to identify. He looked impatiently around as he waited, admiring the ornamental decorations on the walls; it almost looked like Chinese art, but the drawings reminded him of vikings instead. The pictures depicted men with horned helmets charging into great monstrous wolves, and a giant snake that reminded him of a basilisk.

The woman looked up after a moment, a key in her hand. "Here you go, sir. Second floor, fourth room on the right, facing the street. Do you wish to pay in cash?"

"Credit Card, please," Harry said, fumbling as he retrieved it from his pouch. Thankfully he didn't have to figure out how the thing worked himself. Harry realized that he really didn't have anything on him to put in the room, and it was hardly time to hit the hay yet. "Could you hold on to the key? I'll be back in an hour or two."

The clerk didn't seem to mind, hanging the key on a hook behind her. Stepping back outside, Harry sniffed the air curiously and blinked. There was a lingering scent that reminded him quite a bit of good to his side, he realized where it was coming from. Nestled between the Wolf's Howl Hotel and what seemed to be an abandoned building, was a rather small bar. It reminded him a lot of the Leaky Cauldron, especially the warm fireside glow that met him from inside, and the soft bustle of patrons. He couldn't resist taking a peek.

"Come in, come in!" the barkeep exclaimed as he noticed Harry. "We've got plenty of ale, wine, whatever you need!"

Harry quickly glanced over the dozen or so people already inside, all rather pudgy-looking men with beards or large mustaches, with gigantic tankards of beer in front of them. Definitely like the Leaky Cauldron, then. Well – he hadn't had a good drink in ages. Stepping fully inside, the barkeep nodded at him, gesturing to a table on the far end of the room.

"You really should put up a better sign," Harry noted as he dropped into a large and comfortable chair. "I barely noticed you, and I was right next door!"

"Ah, but that would take the fun out of it, wouldn't it?" The barkeep responded, smiling. "We're only open every few weeks, y'know – you're in luck. A tourist, I imagine?"

"In a sense," Harry said. "First time in New York, anyway."

"Then you should taste some of our ale, shouldn't ya? I'll get you some, on the house." He nodded, quickly shuffling away, and Harry looked on in amusement. The fireside glow he had seen hadn't been a mistake – there really was a fire, burning merrily behind a thick grate. The heat was almost on the edge of uncomfortable, but that was practically a part of things. The man returned quickly, giving a friendly nod. "Hope you'll be a regular, sir. Don't have enough of those in this economy, I'm 'fraid."

When the man turned away, Harry quickly tapped his glass with his wand, and was relieved to find that it wasn't infected with all sorts of nasty stuff, this time. He quickly rattled through a few other detection spells, keeping his wand under the table, and was relieved to find they showed nothing. With renewed confidence he picked up the tankard. He took a sip and almost spat it right back out.  _Finally,_ something strong enough to rival a decent Fire Whiskey _._  Drinking a little more this time, Harry took his time to take in the sharp taste, imagining himself back at the Hog's Head for a moment, sharing a glass with Ron as their long days on the job ended.

"I think he has high hopes for you."

Harry blinked, glancing over to his side. A tall man had slipped into the chair on the other side of the table, his own tankard in his hand. He smiled good-naturedly, raising his for a toast, and Harry quickly responded to the gesture. After another long drink he set his drink down. Harry glanced back at the barkeep again. "I think he just knows how to lure someone in."

"Definitely," the other man agreed. "It's his little trick. First one is free, second one is half price, and then you will not care about everything after, as long as the liquor keeps coming."

Harry chuckled. "I suppose it's not that different here in the States, after all. I didn't expect to find a place like this here. I've been all over Los Angeles, and Mu – people there usually don't seem to care for this sort of thing." He sighed contentedly. "Feels a bit like home, actually."

The other man smiled, sipping from his own glass and turning his startlingly sharp blue-green eyes towards Harry, studying him. "What worries are you drinking away here, stranger? Poor fortune, a missed opportunity?"

Harry shrugged. "Just some mistakes I made. I've come to see if I can do anything to make up for one of them." He glanced over the table curiously. "What about you?"

"Jealousy," the man said shortly. "The name is Lucas, by the way." He stuck out his hand. "Lawyer by trade."

Harry raised an eyebrow, shaking the man's hand awkwardly. "Harry. I suppose I'm a wanderer." He thought that going with wizard was probably a bad idea. "As for jealousy – don't much care for it. I nearly lost a friend to it, once. We got over it, but I never forgot that envy has power."

"It doesn't always work out well, either," Lucas said, staring at his drink.

"That depends on if any effort's put into it, i guess." Harry thought back to the Tri-wizard Tournament, even to the hunt for the Horcruxes. Things had gotten pretty hairy between him and Ron, true, but it hadn't lasted. Ultimately they'd gotten over it and probably ended up better friends because of the experience.

Lucas looked over his glass as he took another sip. "So, you're a wanderer, fixing mistakes you made," Lucas said after a few minutes. "I suppose that is laudable, assuming they were bad ones."

Harry looked sceptical. "There are good mistakes?"

"Of course there are." Lucas said, not elaborating. "I wander, on occasion. There is nothing better than having a bit of fun," he noted. "You know, for someone who goes to seedy bars like this, you seem quite cultured. I suppose it is a British upbringing that is responsible?"

"Probably," Harry admitted. "I guess you could say I was brought up in a rather old-fashioned culture. I haven't really gotten used to the modern style of living that you Americans seem to prefer." He glanced at the other man and frowned. "Actually, you don't sound like you're from around here either..."

"Indeed?" The man snorted. "I suppose that would be apparent to most. Yes, I hail from more distant parts. All the  _interesting_ things happen here, though." He sloshed his drink slowly. "There is something peculiar happening in the world, you know. I am sure you have seen it too, you seem the clever sort."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "The media can't stop talking about their newest obsession. Beyond that, things seem fairly normal."

"That is what I meant. People dressing up in fancy clothes and playing vigilante." The man snorted. "You must wonder what the world is coming to, when such people can roam free across the streets. It will be a matter of time before they get arrested and tried."

"I'm sure they're doing what they believe is right," Harry said carefully, feeling very odd about talking in third person like that. "I've seen the pictures, I'm sure they have the power to back up their boasts, at least. I don't think it's a bad thing, really, to have figures like Iron Man around. People need something to look up to, to believe in. Not everyone can make a real difference in the world, but the few who can, might just help inspire those that can't."

"Ah, but then there are the pitfalls of heroism." Lucas shrugged. "On the one hand, glory. On the other, vulnerability. Their visibility will attract more than positive attention."

"Maybe," Harry conceded. "They could also form something that's lasting, don't you think? The world's gotten used to armies, to faceless mobs. Beyond political figures, who do people look up to? I've read enough to know that it's the individuals that stand out which are remembered."

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You are seeing them as symbols more than just people. An interesting way to look at things, I suppose." He frowned. "Symbols they might be, but they seem to me to be ones of war, before anything else."

"Or peace, for those who they are protecting," Harry pointed out. "Peaceful protest might work for some people, but it won't stop the crazy people from doing violent things anyway. You still need someone to take care of those, too. I'd rather see these vigilantes take a shot than sending in the army, again."

Lucas scoffed. "They are unlawful brutes, playing the hero."

"Well, everyone needs heroes," Harry argued. "I look up to people like my parents, my old headmaster, even historical figures. I can understand why people might look up to these new people, too. Granted, I'd definitely break under the pressure of actually being the target of that attention, but I can see the inherent value. Violent or not." He finished his drink, staring at the cup for a moment. "Heroes aren't born, you know. They're made – either by the environment that needs them to be there, or by the people themselves, when there's nobody else to do the job."

"Lofty thoughts on a dreary evening."

Harry shrugged, leaning back. "Armchair philosophy, that's all. A friend of mine tells me off whenever I indulge in that sort of thing."

"I have a brother that does that," Lucas muttered. "He seems more interested in violence and loud boasting than any subtlety or forethought. He is an aggravating person."

Harry sighed. "Must be nice, though."

Lucas looked up curiously."What?"

"Well, the whole family thing," Harry said. He didn't elaborate for a little while as he suddenly realized that the barkeep had to have scooted by while he was thinking, putting a new tankard in front of him. Picking it up, he mused on what it would have been like to grow up with a brother – a proper one, not Dudley.

"Trust me, they're more trouble than they're worth."

"I don't believe that," Harry countered. He drank half of his ale in one go. He blinked, shaking his head. "Never knew my family – I'm pretty much on my own. Don't really have a home, either. Not one I can go too, anyway. Too far 'way."

Lucas was silent for a while, drinking from his own tankard slowly. "What is it like, to live like that?"

Now it was Harry's turn to be confused. "What?"

"I gather that you are an orphan." At Harry wince, he nodded. "What's it like, without anyone at all?"

"I wouldn't say I don't have  _anyone_ ," Harry said, wondering when the conversation had gotten so personal. "I have – friends, and they're like family to me. I suppose, if I look back on things, it does feel like I missed out on somethin'." He looked away. "Uncle and aunt didn't like me much. Didn't really figure out what to do with my life until I was nearly twenty. Just went with things as the came." He chuckled. "Suppose I'm still doing that."

"I think you have had enough," Lucas said, smiling. Harry shrugged, making for another sip, and found to his consternation that he had nothing left.

"Hey! I was drinkin' that," Harry exclaimed, blinking. From somewhere in his foggy mind, something screamed that this was wrong. But he had tested his drink: There had been nothing in it that his magic had recognized as a poison, or a drug, or anything. Had it just been  _that_ alcoholic? No, this was different. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus. He knew a sobriety charm – he was pretty sure he did, anyway. He just couldn't remember it right that moment.

"You seem rather tired, Harry Potter."

Harry reacted instantly to that, snapping upright and grabbing the man across his table by the jacket and dragging him upright. He had some trouble remaining steady, but the movement did help a little.

"Well, that took a disappointingly long time and a transparently obvious hint," Lucas muttered, brushing Harry's hand away effortlessly as he picked up his own cup and emptied it. Then, it vanished into thin air, along with the barkeep and the other patrons. The smooth table turned into a slightly rotten one covered with cracks and with spider webs clinging to the edges. Most of the furniture was suddenly covered in white cloth. "You are not very observant, for a practitioner."

Harry winced as he tried to fight his way to clear-headedness. Only one thing flashed through his head with intensity, though:  _wizard._  Finally he had found one.

"I wouldn't call myself that," Lucas muttered. "I do apologize for the trickery, but I could not help myself." He stood, gesturing towards Harry, who slumped back into his seat as if bound by invisible ropes. "You might say it is in my nature," the man finished.

"How? I check'd!"

Lucas smiled as he turned, and suddenly his clothes, dirty and stained, turned into green and silver armour, a long green cloak hanging off his shoulders all the way to the floor. Clasped in his hand was a wand – with a start, Harry recognized his own wand, the phoenix-feathered one he had been using since he got back. He realized that the one in his pocket had vanished.

Lucas raised his eyebrows. "I'm afraid that I had to – disarm you before you ever got here."

"When?" Harry blurted, trying to move. He was still stuck to his chair, though.

"Oh, when you departed from the large vehicle that brought you here," The man said, shrugging. "It was remarkably easy. I had intended to meet you in one of the rooms next door, but when you were intent on leaving so quickly, I had to take matters into my own hands. The enchantment took a while to take hold, even here, which is impressive. You must have some fortitude of mind."

"Why do this?" Harry said slowly. "Why would I attack another wizard?"

Lucas looked skeptically at Harry. "I could not afford to risk that you had listened and believed poor sources, of course. Some might describe me as malicious and evil, and I would rather avoid mindless attacks on my person. A conflict between us is rather the opposite of what I intend after all." Lucas hesitated, and Harry wondered for a moment what he had gotten himself into when the man turned to him with a look that cut like a knife. "There is something that I require. It is kept from my sight, perhaps from all, but I know it is here someplace. It must be returned to Asgard."

Harry's mind made the connection almost instantly, despite the fogginess of what he now realized had to be some kind of spell. The image of the crystalline cube swam to the surface of his mind. With it, came another image. Sif, speaking. She had told him stories of Asgard – of all the people she knew there. Thor, Balder, Odin, Heimdall, and... "You're Loki."

Lucas, or Loki, smiled. "Of course."

Harry snorted suddenly. "Posing as a lawyer. Fitting." He tried a wandless  _Finite,_ hoping that would work, but nothing happened. "Can you get this… spell off me? I can't think." The fuzziness was everywhere, and Harry could barely string two through together if they weren't blatantly obvious. Harry wondered momentarily if he could learn to use it.

He suddenly found himself lying on the ground, his head ringing like a gong, surrounded by the remains of the chair he had occupied. He could think again – he could reason again. He gazed up at Loki blearily. The man -  _the god of Misschief -_  studied his wand with interest, turning it over in his hand. "I hope you don't mind if I keep this for now. Insurance, if you will. It's a focus, yes? I never thought that any wood but that of Yggdrasil would be sufficient." He crossed his arms, glancing at Harry's prone form. "You understand my caution, I am sure. The Seidhr are well known as formidable combatants – should they have access to their magic."

"You could have just walked up to me," Harry responded immediately, getting to his feet. Staring at his stolen wand, he gritted his teeth. "I heard some bad things about you, Loki. You really shouldn't have gone and shown that those claims are valid." He stretched, glad that he had control of his faculties again, and embarrassed over the things he said while affected. Had he really just brought up the Dursleys, out of nowhere? What kind of bastard just read your mind without permission or drugged you just to talk? "My head feels like a drum. Tell me what you want, and go away."

The Asgardian smiled. "Oh come on, magician. You are not  _hurt_." He walked over swiftly. "Perhaps we may strike a bargain – as equals in sorcery, if nothing else."

Harry's sudden punch was so unexpected that Loki reeled back, a hand clenched to his nose in pain, though it hadn't been broken. The Asgardian blinked in astonishment as Harry rubbed his knuckled and winced. That hit had felt as if it impacted a wall instead of a face.

Loki blinked. "What was  _that_  for...?"

"Oh come on, Loki. You are not  _hurt_ ," Harry retorted glibly, shaking his head. "I consider us even, with that." He raised his hand, and in it he held his phoenix-feather wand - upside down, granted, but it was the thought that counted. "Why were you measuring this? You're not  _jealous,_  are you?"

"Oh, very mature," Loki scoffed.

"Says the one who goes fondling other people's stuff," Harry retorted. Loki seemed rather surprised by the sudden turn-around. "Now, what do you want?" Harry flipped his wand over, aiming it at Loki's face. "Start talking, or you start quacking like a duck. Permanently."

Loki stared at Harry for a long moment. "I need your assistance," he finally said, blue eyes focused on Harry's with an expression that was unusually grave. "You know of the object that I seek. I wish to return it to Asgard, to the All-Father. It is priceless and ancient, and I would not have it sullied any longer on this world." He sniffed. "It is no place for such splendour."

"You mean the Cube."

"Yes," Loki breathed. "It was a gift, if you are not aware. A gift from ancient times, meant for the All-Father. It comes from the time of my birth, and stories of it have existed since then, though my father has never chosen to confirm them." Loki sighed. "It was believed destroyed, and few sources still mention it except as a lost treasure." He glanced at Harry. "I know now that it still exists. I saw it in your mind."

"Saw it in my - " Harry realized that Loki couldn't mean just before, when he had thought of it. The Asgardian would never have lured him in here, drugged him with magic just to speak with him, if he had only just found out. "You – you were  _him."_ Harry said, taking a step back. "In the desert…?"

"Yes," Loki said easily. "You were dying, and I could not tolerate that. I had use for you. It was not personal, I assure you." He shook his head, and for a moment his eyes were bright red. Harry shuddered as the eyes turned back to bright blue, briefly glimmering with green, very similar to his own eyes. Voldemort – it had been Loki as Voldemort, when he had nearly died in the desert, trying to figure out Bruce's memory. It had been Loki that saved his life, that saved his mind. Whether he had done it for ulterior motives was beside the point; he had done it.

"I – Thank you." Harry said after a moment, then grimaced. "You read my mind. Without even a semblance of permission."

"What would you have me do?"

"You could let me obliviate you, wipe your memories," Harry said airily, though he was genuinely considering the scenario. Would a spell like that work on an Asgardian as it did on a Muggle? Would Loki, as clearly magical in some fashion, be able to break the spell.

Loki snorted. "You were practically throwing memories at me," Loki said in distaste. "With your mind wide open in your panic, I could hardly help to see some of them. That is how I learned your name. I also learned about the  _Tesseract_ , as it is called by the humans."

"So?" Harry asked. "I have never seen it, you know. Just pictures, memories."

"That is true," the Asgardian acknowledged. "Did you not wonder who might have given such a mighty wonder to Odin All-Father, though? What mighty people could have created such a marvellous source of energy and then vanished, leaving it unclaimed for all these years?"

Harry stopped short. He really hadn't thought about it. "You mean the Seidhr," Harry said. "You mean to tell me wizards made that thing?"

"Made it, found it, I don't know," Loki answered. "What I do know, is that they  _used_ it, for whatever great purpose it was designed to do. No human could control it, because they do not have the aptitude. No Asgardian could either, except perhaps the All-Father himself."

Harry nodded. "But the Seidhr could. You believe I can unlock it, whatever it is."

Loki nodded. "I am certain of it. Think about the possibilities! I care nothing for Midgard or its people, I will not lie about that. I know, however, that you are sentimentally attached to this pathetic world, and it is ancestrally yours. If you do not wish to see it destroyed, you will require Asgardian power to keep it safe. The Cube can give it to you."

Harry frowned. "What are you saying?"

Loki leaned over, grinning. "The cube was to be gift of peace, and it could be  _again_. Forces are gathering themselves against you, against Midgard. You know this, I am sure, for there are some who have seen this coming for a long time, including the Lady Sif. The Cube is a part of this, too. Humans might not have had the ability to use it in past ages, but they are quickly evolving. They will learn to tap the energy in their own way. When they do, it will send a signal across the galaxy that is far more potent than a single wizard's could ever be." Loki grimaced. "It would tell all the realms that Midgardis ready for a higher form of war _."_

"War." Harry spat in distaste. "I can't let that happen." A chill ran down his back. "You believe that returning the Cube to Asgard could prevent this?"

"The realms already know of Odin's power," Loki said. "They will know that it has grown greater still, when this Tesseract is returned to its rightful place. Perhaps you may barter it for protection of Midgard, as well."

Harry stared at the Asgardian and thought back to Sif's description. Although she had told him he was a prince, and as such worthy of respect, twisting the truth was in his very nature - no deal with Loki was exactly as it sounded. Harry couldn't trust him - but neither could he afford to let such a powerful person entirely out of his sight, if he was trying to get his hands on something that belonged to the local wizards, and was clearly powerful enough to warrant the attention. He'd play along - and get in contact with Sif as soon as she returned. He turned to the Asgardian, raising an eyebrow. "And what do you get, Loki?"

Loki smirked. "Recognition. Even my brother will honor me for returning with such a prize." He raised an eyebrow. "Interested?"


	26. Along Came a Spider

"You're still here, then," Tony observed, raising an eyebrow. He got up from his rickety chair, carefully balancing upright. He looked rather like a mummy with three limbs encased in plaster and his waist wrapped with bandages. "I feel like I should be quoting that Brendan Fraser movie, but I haven't seen it. It's a  _Brendan Fraser_  movie."

"You sound like you're getting better," Bruce muttered as he rubbed his shoulder. "Though, I hate to point out that you really shouldn't be walking on that, or waving those arms around for that matter."

Tony shrugged with difficulty. "The leg and arms are fine. This isn't the first time I broke bones, you know. I had Jarvis keep a physiological report on my recuperation the last time something like this happened, so I know perfectly well how fast I heal. Besides, cracked bones don't count as broken in my book."

"I keep forgetting you cracked your skull, too," Bruce muttered. "That explains it."

"It might have knocked a few IQ points off the top, but I'm still more than a match for pretty much anyone," Tony remarked lightly. "I forget what they ranked me as, last year. Fourth of the world, I believe. I remember being outraged when this Feynman guy was put in there ahead of me. He's  _ancient_ ; he should have Alzheimer's by now or something. And then there's this wunderkind, Richards. I swear, if I ever meet his smarmy little..."

"You're ranting."

"I'm not ranting," Tony responded immediately. "I'm  _venting_. Anyway, my brain is fine, thank you very much. I'm working on a way to integrate it with my more recent technology; then it'll be even better than fine!" He winced as he moved, and his arms jostled back and forth. "Still, the wheels are useful for long distances."

"You get really talkative when you're bored."

"So Pepper tells me," Tony agreed. "Has Rhodey arrived yet, by the way? He always listens to what I have to say, even if he ignores most of it."

Bruce shook his head. "I'll be gone before he arrives. Mr. Rhodes isn't due for another twelve hours, at least. You'd know that, if you actually checked it with your knock-off HAL."

Tony blinked. "Did you just make a pop culture reference?" He smiled widely. "At last, a convert!"

"You also get annoying when you're bored, I guess." Bruce paused, frowning. "Actually, that's true regardless of how bored you are."

"You get green and hulky instead. We all have problems." Tony scowled at his bandaged arms again. "I'm beginning to regret that I didn't try Harry's weird concoctions. I might have ended up growing bunny ears, but at least I wouldn't be this ineffectual puppet."

"You're too late now," Bruce said.

"I know, I know, he's living the good life in New York." He blinked as something occurred to him. "Right, before I forget, I have a floor or two in mind for you in my new tower. I figure with unbreakable walls and the largest collection of very stretchy pants you've ever seen, you'll probably feel right at home. Want it?"

Bruce sighed, and then nodded. "Alright."

Tony stared for a moment. "Well, that was remarkably easy."

"I've thought it over already, talked to a few people. Anyway, since it's just a big pit right now, there's no hurry. I'm leaving for a while; I've already made arrangements with the Director. He wants to ensure my loyalty, now that  _it_  can be of use to him, and I intend to take advantage of that."

"Might as well," Tony agreed. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s probably not the worst ally to have when you're dealing with the army, anyway. If you get stuck anywhere, or they're after you, just use the dirty old sock you have to bail out, and get Fury on the case."

Bruce smirked. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I'll be at the tower when it's opened. I'm going to find a few people I haven't spoken to in a long time."

"I'm counting on seeing you at the opening then. It'll be weird not having you and Harry around for a while, I'd almost gotten used to it. Reminded me of frat boy days, you know." He frowned. "At least you have the luxury of going underground after all of this. Nobody asked about me yet, but I'll have to figure out how I'm going to explain my wounds when I'm due for a public appearance that I can't avoid." He finally sat down. "I'm thinking skiing accident or wild orgy. Which do you think would fit better?" He smiled cheerily at Bruce's affronted expression. "Come on, let's hear it?"

"As long as you don't tell me what you went for, do what you like," Bruce responded. He paused for a moment, looking serious. "I was thinking, A.I.M.'s gutted pretty well, and this Tarleton guy is out of the way, but that's not the last of it, is it? What are we going to do if anyone else comes knocking?"

Tony shrugged. "We'll have to deal with that when we come to it. Tarleton wasn't the leader of A.I.M. or of whatever strange scheme this whole thing was a part of. He admitted as much when he spoke to us, you know. He was a pawn like all the others. I haven't read anything new about the guy, he's still unconscious, but he's our best bet for new information. I'll be sure to relay anything I learn."

Bruce nodded. "And then we're going to do all this again?" He shook his head. "You're already thinking about next time, aren't you?" He groaned. "Brilliant."

"It's not over. I think you can bet on it. If it's not these bastards with their bombs, it's someone else. Now that we know that people like the Asgardians are out there, how can we afford to stay clueless? How about other alien races that Sif mentioned so casually? Most of them sound like they'd be bad news, and we're effectively defenceless here. The only protection that we have against that stuff is mostly on this ship right now, you know. Fury knows it. S.H.I.E.L.D. will call on all of us again."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "All of us, you think? Even Dr. Jekyll?"

"Yes, and even Mr. Hyde." He looked at Bruce for a long moment. "You know that Fury spoke to me in private, right? Now, I will probably get my ass fired for this, but tell me, have you ever heard of something called the  _Avengers Initiative_?"

* * *

Harry looked out over the bustling streets of New York with a slight smile, crouching on the edge of a roof on the outskirts. There were huge buildings even here, some of them easily thirty floors tall, and he'd ended up on one of the tallest in the area. The ambient light that filtered up from the streetlights far below gave an odd glow to things; the illumination was bright enough to safely fly even in the late evening, and he could still see people in the streets as well. He'd only been around for three days, three days that mostly consisted of him trying to get some idea of the city's layout while wondering whether Loki would pop up again, but he'd already started to take a liking to the massive metropolis.

Loki had been on his mind a lot since their meeting. Though he knew that trusting someone who was well-known for deceiving people was a  _terrible_  idea, there were certain things he said that seemed plausible enough. The Cube  _was_  something that S.H.I.E.L.D. and Fury knew about, and would probably take advantage of. The Director was very quick in taking in the force field device that A.I.M. had been using, and had already attempted and failed to figure out a way to counter magic, so this seemed a plausible extension of that. Loki probably had ulterior goals, but Harry wasn't sure if helping out a chronic liar to get the Earth some much-needed firepower was such a bad trade.

There was only one way he was going to find out whether or not he should side with Loki here, though. He'd need to talk to Sif, and get her insight into what the Cube was for, or perhaps even go directly to Odin; he had a standing invitation, after all. If retrieving the cube was the best option, he could retrieve and deliver it to Asgard himself without ever involving Loki at all, and he'd probably have an even better shot at getting Asgardian protection for Earth. Deceiving the deceiver. It seemed appropriate.

Loki would return for his answer soon enough, and Harry hoped he could figure out a way to contact Asgard before then. Preferable one that didn't involve yelling loudly into the sky, and crossing your fingers that Heimdall was paying attention. He felt quite silly trying that, plus it hadn't worked for Sif, either. Aside from that, he'd need to figure out a better way to protect his new home than to spam the first spells that came to mind; without Asgard, he'd have to pick up some of the slack.

Protecting his new home, Harry repeated to himself, and he smiled at the thought. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd once again done something incredibly dangerous and ridiculous to protect people, but he no longer felt quite as much like an outsider, like someone on an extended vacation. Dealing with life and death here was no different from back home, and the people were just  _people_. There were a lot fewer wizards than he was used to, that was true, but it seemed this world had found its own alternative. There were people here who took up an Auror's job, even if they didn't take that name.

Well – there was  _one_ Auror, he corrected himself. As the world's only wizard, Asgardians notwithstanding, he'd have to fill that role to the best of his ability. He'd stopped a gamma bomb, yes, but he'd been very inefficient about it; he had to admit that much. He had come up with dozens of much more effective ways to stop the device, after he'd already done his foolish transfiguration trick and almost singed his hair off. Years out of the line of spell fire had dulled that instinctual level of magic-use that was a hallmark of an accomplished Auror, even if he only spent a year or two on that level; that point where you actually had a pretty good idea of what would work best in a given situation, even under pressure. Right now, he was mostly just relying on the fact that everyone around him was a Muggle, and wouldn't know a Stunner from a  _Crucio;_ he really couldn't afford to let that continue.

He flopped onto his back on the roof. He was a wizard among a million Muggles, and he had only recently realized what that meant. When twilight had made way for night and people really should have gone to bed, the volume barely lowered down in the streets. This was really a city that never slept, as Tony had described it. Perhaps this could be a good place to figure out what he should be doing, or to actually train himself to get better.

With Tony's new place in construction, and most of his temporary allies gone to do their personal errands, it seemed like a bit of a calm was expected before the storm kicked up again. In that time he could figure out a little more about this world; more specifically, its history. If this was a sort of alternate world compared to his own, then there had to have been some point in history where the two were the same and then diverged. One to form his own world, with Hogwarts and Voldemort and no ridiculously advanced Muggles. The other would be this one. He knew of one major difference already: Wizards. The Seidhr, ancient magic-users, had gone extinct; they had been entirely wiped out. Sif had seemed quite certain that he was the last, which meant something else that was considerably weirder.

There were no  _Muggleborns_.

Were magical people only born from other magical people, in this world? It seemed that wizards had to be significantly different if that were the case, though neither Asgardian that he'd met had been even slightly uncertain about his status as a Seidhr. Loki had been prepared for his wand, too, which meant that something like it, a focus, was not at all a surprise. Of course, Harry conceded, he could have plucked that particular fact from his mind.

The Seidhr had lived in the far north of Europe, Harry knew. That much he'd understood from Sif's descriptions. The Norse gods had been inspired by the Asgardians, and the Seidhr had lived alongside them, as allies. Wizards on his own world, however, lived all across the world and had done so for thousands of years. If the Seidhr wizards went extinct, shouldn't all the rest still be there? It would imply that all wizards were killed, not just the ones that Asgardians interacted with in the past.

The extinction of magical people brought up something else: magical creatures. Without wizards and witches to cover up their existence, how did they keep hidden? Goblins and Centaurs were probably smart enough to hide, but not the huge and animalistic things, like dragons. The only plausible explanation was that they too had gone. When the Seidhr and the Asgardians had left, it was as if magic in its entirety had vanished at the same time. Harry had no idea what could do that, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Rising up on his broom, Harry slowly floated away from his roof, and closer to the heart of the city. He'd found a map the previous day, and had a fairly decent idea of where he was going, and the fact that he had a top down view helped tremendously. The sun would come up in about four or five hours; Harry rather doubted he'd get some sleep, but he had some Invigoration Draught on him. Soon he'd have to face what he'd been dreading for a while. In all the commotion surrounding A.I.M. and Loki, the thought of the old man that Death had so mercilessly taken hadn't left Harry's mind for a minute, and he wanted to do  _something_  about it.

Harry had read the file that Tony had given him a dozen times now; it was short and to the point, and much of the information referenced in it was so classified it wasn't even on the computer database at all, which left some large gaps for him. This man, this Benjamin, had been a relative of a former C.I.A. agent who worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. on a number of occasions, which is why he was in their system at all. Benjamin lived with his wife and nephew in an out-of-the-way part of Queens, New York, where was enjoying his retirement. That is, until it was brutally cut short by an armed thug who had just robbed a local convenience store.

Harry couldn't quite grasp that; he hadn't simply dropped dead, whatever part of him that was keeping him alive suddenly stopped. No, Death had gotten  _creative_. Perhaps without her interference, the robber would've missed his shot entirely, or Benjamin might have survived the shooting, waking up some days later in the hospital. Whatever the case, it'd been more cruel than he'd expected; the man's nephew had been nearby when the shooting happened, had actually watched his uncle die. Careless use of the Resurrection Stone had led to this, Harry knew, and he'd have to live up to that, somehow. He didn't think money would help the survivors any, nor would explaining what exactly he did. As if they'd even believe him. That's why he'd been reading the files again and again, particularly on the details of the robbery.

There was one thing that stuck out in them. S.H.I.E.L.D. had kept an eye on Benjamin and his family for a long time, years, and particularly the last two were heavily documented, though there was no stated reason. The night of the robbery there had been one person assigned to watch over the family: A S.H.I.E.L.D. agent that hadn't reported in. Was that a coincidence? Had the agent simply been absent by chance? Or had Death manipulated that as well, preventing the agent from stopping the shooting?

"No, no, that's not proper. I'm not going to do that," Harry said to himself as he got an idea. A nasty and deceitful idea. The real agent that should have been there that night probably never learned what really happened. It was clear from his reading that Benjamin and his wife had known about their connection to a C.I.A. and S.H.I.E.L.D. employee, which meant they probably knew about people keeping an eye out.

Harry closed his eyes, rubbing his brow. Yes, he'd be lying, but it was the closest thing to a confession he could reasonably go for. "What a tangled web we weave..."

* * *

Harry only knocked once before the door swung open. A stern-faced woman with unkempt dark hair looked at him with a little surprise, cutting off whatever she was about to say. "Ah – sorry, I thought you would be someone else. I apologize."

"You are Mrs. Parker?" Harry asked slowly, and she nodded. Harry sighed; this was the third house he'd tried, since the numbering here was terribly confusing. The first two, thankfully, had just slammed the door in his face rather than anything more drastic. He cleared his throat. "I'm Harry Callahan, consultant for the government-sanctioned organization known as the Strategic-"

She tensed at that, glancing around. "Come in," she said. "Quickly, now. The neighbours will get nosy if you don't."

Harry blinked as he followed Mrs. Parker into the house through a rather poorly patched-up door and a cluttered hallway with sports clothes lying around. Half a skateboard stood propped up against a wall. Harry's gaze wandered around in interest as he straightened his tie. He'd transfigured his clothes to look a little more official than his usual wear, and he'd see plenty of people at the Helicarrier to have some idea of what would fit.

Mrs. Parker quickly went for her tea, pouring a cup. "I figured that someone would be coming for  _years._  I've wondered before why nobody ever did." She shook her head as she set down a cup of tea. "You sound British – would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Parker," Harry replied as he picked up a second cup, and put it on the table in front of him. He felt terrible about doing it but he quickly checked it for any poisons when she was turned away. There were none. After Loki, it seemed practically an obligation to check, not to mention S.H.I.E.L.D. 's little trick with tiny machines in his blood. He took a sip, and was presently surprised by the rich taste that reminded him of home.

"You can just call me May," Mrs. Parker said as she nodded in satisfaction. "Anything else just makes me sound even older than I already am, you know." She glanced at the stairs. "I could have sworn he was out, but I just heard..." She shrugged it off. "Well, never mind that. There must be a reason you came by, today." She narrowed her eyes. "Did you find out anything new about Richard and Mary?"

Harry had worried about this conclusion, since it was a natural one to come to, and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. It is – that is, my visit, it's not about them. Honestly, I don't know much about the case at all. This is of a more ... personal nature. I suppose I'm not here as a S.H.I.E.L.D. consultant, but just as myself."

May seemed disappointed, but nodded. "I figured that you'd finally found out what happened... but I suppose it's unlikely, after all these years." She shook her head. "Well, if it is not them, then I am at a loss. Out with it, then? What's brought you here?"

Harry swallowed thickly, wondering how he should bring this up without sounding like a prick. "You were the wife of Mr. Benjamin Parker, I understand," he started, and May stilled at the mention of her husband's name.

"...Yes. I'm afraid that he has passed on a little while ago," May said after a moment, putting her cup down carefully. "It's been over a year now. Time does pass quickly." Harry blinked at that. A  _year._  He hadn't used the ring until a week or two before now, hadn't met Death until shortly before the mission in Chile. How was that possible? Did Death kill people back through  _time?_

This wasn't getting any easier, Harry realized, by putting it off. If he was going to stick with this story, he's have to follow through. A lie though it was, this was definitely closest to the truth without opening a whole new can of worms. Maybe it would be easier, with the details different, as if he was talking about someone else. Honestly he just felt worse about it.

"You know that S.H.I.E.L.D. has kept an eye on your family," Harry said after a while, looking away in discomfort. "They wouldn't intrude on things, of course, but just keep an eye out in case of reprisals. You are caring for a family member of a high-profile operative, which is why the practice continues." Harry knew that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent that was present today would probably report his presence at the house. Well, he wasn't doing anything that would really set Fury off, he figured.

"Ben said not to worry about all that," May responded after a while, then her eyes widened. "Nobody's coming for Peter, right? Please tell me that he's safe!"

"No, no, it's not that," Harry said, and he pushed on. "A little over a year ago, I was supposed to be in New York to watch over your family. I was to keep an eye on your family, to make sure that nobody would go after you. I was sick at the time, and that week nobody checked in on you at all – it wasn't considered a big deal, since it was basically considered an easy job, since nothing ever happened. Then... well, that was the week that something  _did_ happen."

May had paled. "Ben. You-"

"I should have been there," Harry confirmed, closing his eyes. He shook his head tiredly. "I didn't know what my negligence would cause, but it was my own stupid decision that led to what happened. Because I wasn't there, that robber even had the chance to pull the trigger. I might as well have pulled it myself."

The silence that followed was long and tense, and Harry wasn't sure what he expected. Screaming, maybe? Violence? Being told to get out and never return again? It definitely wasn't another cup of delicious tea being put in front of him. He opened his eyes, blinking in confusion.

May looked at him with an expression that Harry couldn't place. Not angry, a little sad, but something more. "You're all choked up over this, aren't you?" she said after a moment, and there were tears in her eyes. She actually smiled for a moment. "I can see it in your eyes, you know. You're feeling guilty over this, aren't you? Ben would probably tell you not to blame yourself."

Harry cringed. "How could I not?"

May picked up a photograph from a side-table, and ran a finger over it. "I don't know if you ever met him, but Benjamin was the forgiving type," she said. "He didn't really hold grudges, since he'd seen it all before. Even when Richard and Mary came here, and all that went wrong there, he persevered with head raised. We took in Peter, so taking risks was nothing new to us." She smiled as she set down the family photo again. "Peter blames himself for what happened to his uncle, I think. He believes if he'd just been there a moment earlier, he might have stopped things from going bad. Not so different from your own situation, I think."

"He's just a teen," Harry said after a moment. "What could he have done?" A shiver ran down his back as he thought back to that icy landscape, to that image of the dead man that he'd seen. "My stupid mistake contributed to this tragedy, caused it – and I can't fix it."

"Can you see the future, mister Callahan?"

Harry faltered at her sudden question. "No..."

"Then you should not claim all the blame," May chided after a moment. "Peter blames himself because maybe he could've stopped things, and I've been trying to get him to reconsider. I sometimes blame myself as well, because I didn't go with him to find Peter." She shook her head. "I had a lot of time to think about this, and I keep realizing that it's pointless to say who's really responsible. Everyone acted in good faith, except that robber."

Harry looked away. "Whatever share of the blame is mine, I can't repay that. I wouldn't know how." he said after a moment.

"Then don't try that," May responded shortly. "Trying to do something you can't is just asking for trouble, and what's done is done. You should really try not to go into the future while walking backwards, since it's a great way to trip." She smiled sadly. "Ben used to say that, you know."

Harry nodded, though he didn't know how to take that sentiment. "So... what  _should_  I do?"

"Looking for advice from an old woman? I would do as Ben would have done. Make the world a better place wherever you can. I try to do that as well, bit by bit. Even coming here must have been hard for you, and you made the world a little bit better by it, I think. What happened to Ben has touched you as it did everyone else, and I hope it's for the better, when you look back on it in the future."

Harry nodded after a long time. "If there is anything I can do for you or your family, you must tell me. I can't just..."

May nodded, and she glanced at the stairs. "Well, there is one thing that you might be able to help me with, to set my mind at ease..."

* * *

Harry walked with his hands in his pockets, trying to make sense of what he should think. May Parker had been understanding, instead of angry. Far more understanding than he'd expected. He'd gone in expecting yelling, at least, if not outright blame. He didn't know what to do with only understanding looks and words. He wasn't sure if it had mattered if he'd told the truth about his accidental role in the death instead, since she would doubtlessly just say that he'd been acting in good faith; in truth, he had been. Perhaps his assumption that the Hallows were as they used to be was a mistake, but he had chosen to help Bruce come to terms with some things with the best of intentions.

It made one things clear enough to him, though. He couldn't afford to repeat his mistake, to add guilt upon guilt. Beyond not using the Stone, he'd have to think before he acted far more than he did now. If he ever came near that Cube, he would have to take care, not jump into things blindly and hope that it all worked out. More Dumbledore, less... him.

He would try to do as Mrs. Parker had suggested, and focus on making the world better, however he could. Really, that had been what he was here for in the first place, to try and make the Parkers' lives a little easier, and his role at S.H.I.E.L.D. was no different either. He'd been doing that sort of thing, willingly or not, since his first years at Hogwarts. He'd been an Auror; was still an Auror, officially, even if such titles meant nothing in another world. Helping people was at the core of what he did, by taking dark magic off the streets.

So, he's promised Mrs. Parker to help out, whatever she wanted done, and that led to here. He found himself tailing a nervous teenager that he'd put a tracking spell on when he left his home, just in case. Peter Parker was Benjamin's nephew, and as May described him, someone prone to getting into a heap of trouble. Harry tried to ignore the throngs of people that passed him by in favour of the teen, wondering what he hoped to achieve here. He'd been asked to check in on Peter, to see if he wasn't doing anything dangerous or illegal that led to him coming home in less-than-stellar condition on a regular basis. Harry couldn't help but wonder if he weren't intruding into the boy's privacy, though.

The streets of New York were busy, even out here dozens or hundreds populated the sidewalks; businessmen, sloppily dressed youths, a fair number of shady-looking people with more tattoos than seemed possible, and many others. Harry, dressed as he was in his neat suit, didn't really stand out. Still, he believed that even wearing a wizard's robe, pointy hat, and fake beard he probably wouldn't have looked too out of place. Thankfully, Harry had his spells; without them, his target would have long slipped off somewhere, since he was doubtlessly far more adept at traversing these roads than Harry was.

Peter slipped into an alleyway after a while, and Harry paused before the entrance, glancing into the cramped and dirty offshoot from the comparatively clean street with a frown. Something was off about this. His tracking spell was telling him that Peter was nearby, very much so even, but he couldn't see him; there were a few people further down the alleyway, but nobody close enough to be who he was looking for. Hesitantly he stepped into the alley, flipping his wand into his hand.

New York had a weird duality to it, as he had noticed. Lots of high rise buildings, tall majestic buildings, luxurious streets. In between them were these places, like the underbelly of the beast, poorly maintained back streets and houses that barely counted as such, with graffiti everywhere

Harry twitched when one of the men further down the alleyway cracked his knuckles, staring in his direction with an unnerving smile. Harry tried to look as imposing as he could. He wasn't terribly tall, so that probably wasn't working. He quickly thought of a few simple spells to get him out in case things got ugly, glancing down the alley. Somehow he'd passed Peter again. It took him a moment to figure out what he was missing, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. Oh, this boy was  _good._

He looked straight up and only saw a flash of movement on the roof, at least ten stories up. That was a lot to climb in a short time, and Peter hadn't had much of it; he must have had experience in this sort of thing. Harry couldn't help but be impressed; he had been spotted, and his quarry was making a run for it, through the most unorthodox route.

He smiled. Oh, it had been a long time since one of  _these._

Before he could rethink his plan, Harry went for the nearby stairs, probably the ones that Peter had used as well. They were for emergencies, ostensible, though the rusty lock on it had long been broken.

"What do you want?" The rotund man further down the alley asked as he approached, cracking his knuckles again. "Well, speak up?"

"Just up," Harry said easily.

"Just  _up_ ," the man mocked. "You just wander'd off the streets to take a gander from the roofs, did ya?" He stepped closer. "Pay up, then. Toll's due."

"Could you please just step aside?" Harry tried. The two other men had joined the first now, looking at him with foul expressions. Probably it was his suit, Harry realized; they thought he was some rich businessman that just wandered into their hands. "I really don't think you want my kind of trouble."

The broad man snorted, and suddenly there was a knife in his hand; easily four inches long and wickedly curved, Harry's hand drifted to his shoulder.

Harry didn't even need to say the spell; with barely a thought, the knife forced its way out of the man's hand and landed solidly in his own, and he immediately held it towards the thug's neck. The man's eyes were wide as he stared as his own weapon turned against him, glancing at his own empty fist in confusion, and then a tinge of fear.

"You're probably thinking that was witchcraft," Harry said after a moment. "You'd pretty much be right." He flicked his wand sideways, and all three men dropped to the ground like bricks, their feet tied solidly together with their own shoelaces that wriggled as if alive. It wouldn't hold them for very long, but that wasn't really important.

This was a charming first encounter with the New York low-life, all things considered. He supposed it was better than his first dark wizard on the job as Auror. That guy had been conning Muggles with actual Galleons, oblivious to the fact that goblins used quite a bit of magic on those coins that was easily traced; the man hadn't even been able to cast a spell to save his hide, though he tried. Harry quickly silenced each of the three thugs, and then tapped them one by one on the forehead. " _Obliviate."_

Letting them keep the memories of getting tackled by someone they couldn't handle probably wasn't a bad thing, but they'd seen his face already, and he really didn't want to get in the newspapers again. Not many would listen to these folks, but you never knew. Perhaps they'd infer something interesting from finding themselves spontaneously tied up.

He turned to the stairs, to make his way up to the roof; his quarry hadn't moved far in the time he'd waited. He glanced up, and he saw a glimpse of a face peering over the edge before it was gone – he'd been keeping close the entire time. Harry felt a chill run down his back, then; had the boy seen anything? Had Peter just seen him use magic in broad daylight?

The roof was empty, but the next one wasn't. He saw Peter slip behind a low wall on the other end, and out of sight. There was at least six feet of space between the two buildings, and Harry nervously glanced over the edge into the depths. He couldn't pull out his broom here, that would attract more attention than any minor memory charm.

"In for a knut..." he muttered at last, as he took a flying leap, making himself lighter as he'd done to Sif. His jump took him over the gap onto the other building, and then some. He landed in a crumpled heap in the middle of the roof, groaning from the sudden impact. He quickly picked himself up, but Peter was gone again. In the brief moment he took his eyes off the boy, he'd moved on. The boy was goading him. Waiting just long enough to lure him along before he was gone again, out of sight. Harry shook his head as he looked up the next building, which was at least five stories taller. He couldn't have gotten all the way up there, could he?

Well, that was just another jump. Light as he was already due to his spell, he could just overdo it and make another huge jump. He paused, then, realizing what he was thinking. Here he was, chasing down a boy who knew nothing about him, and he was already using spells to keep up. He wasn't going to win this without pulling out even more, and using magic without even concealing his identity would just get him in the news again with his face on every cover. If the boy had seen his magic already, hopefully he'd keep it quiet, and Harry could just approach him later. If he hadn't. Well, he would get another shot at finding him, certainly.

* * *

"What is he doing at the Parkers?" Fury glowered at the screen. "Tell me, Triers, who last accessed the Richard and Mary Parker files? Anywhere within the last few days."

"Nobody in the last several years, actually," Triers said. "They're not on our servers – we only have hard-copies in an undisclosed location. Too sensitive."

Fury nodded. "How about their son?"

"That file was accessed two days ago. Opened with Agent Barton's access codes, sir." Triers raised an eyebrow. "Also accessed were a wide variety of associated topics, such as Richard Parker's older brother, deceased. Barton is still on the ship, though, and hasn't logged any computer hours..."

"Stark," Fury spat after a moment.

" _You rang?"_ Fury blinked as the screen flipped on, showing a video feed of Tony in his wheelchair. He waved cheerily with his bandaged arms. "Voice activation; installed it yesterday. Wanted to hear what terrible things you might be saying about me."

"Should have guessed," Fury muttered. "The Parkers. You have stolen the identification of one of our agents –  _again –_  and used it to access confidential files. I want an explanation."

Tony shrugged. "I helped out a friend. It's not like any of that was terribly secret, now was it?"

"That is not the point, Mr. Stark." Fury narrowed his eyes. "The Parkers and their nephew are under S.H.I.E.L.D. protection for a number of classified reasons, and I will not have you or any of your 'friends' waltzing into such operations. Period."

"Harry seemed to think he had something to say to them," Tony said after a moment. "I can't say anything more; I don't know much else. Only thing I do know is that Harry's not the type to do that kind of thing without a reason. He's probably on to something important."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Fury said. "How do I explain this to my superiors? One of our consultants went rogue and decided to visit protected individuals without a good reason?"

"You could just argue he had a vision or something," Tony said. "They already know he's a freaky sorcerer type guy, so why not? Tell him that there's something important there for national security and they might just buy it."

Furry rubbed his forehead. "Is it possible that is actually the case? I'm beginning to wonder if I should assume the strangest things and whittle down what he can't somehow manage."

"Good question," Tony said after a moment. "He did mention a prophecy in passing, once..."

"You're serious."

"Yup. Anyway, I'd suggest leaving him to do his thing... when he calls us, we'll know a little more." Tony gestured to his side. "I am working on a few ideas for your Helicarrier, since Bruce seems to think it's more productive than hovering wheelchairs. He left a few hours ago, if you hadn't noticed. We agreed that your base could use an upgrade."

"Don't blow up my ship, Stark."

"I wouldn't dare," Tony said, and then paused. "Just small parts of it, I swear."

* * *

It took almost three hours before Harry was anywhere near Peter's location again. He cruised over the streets on his broom, wondering if he should attempt to follow the boy once more since he'd been so easily spotted the last time. The boy had to know the city like the back of his hand to slip away like he did. Perhaps going into the alleyway had been Peter's attempt to smoke him out, but then how had the boy known he was there in the first place? Had he just avoided the people already in the alley, or asked them to keep him away, perhaps?

He recognized the part of town he was flying over by the gargoyle on one of the buildings, staring down on the streets below. The city looked very different in daylight, and Harry mused over that as he dropped onto a nearby building; one with a little courtyard on top, and which was partially attached directly to another, taller building next to it. It was nice and secluded, and Harry was about to pull off his hood and store it away when someone spoke.

"Nice duds."

Harry flinched, though he caught himself rather quickly. He had his wand out already, glancing around himself. Nobody. He looked up at last, and there he was.

It took Harry a moment to figure out what he was looking at. It was a man entirely covered in bright red and blue fabric, with thin black lines crisscrossing all across it, with two bright white eyes sewn onto the front of a tight mask. The costumed man was hanging from the wall by his fingertips, and made it look effortless, like defying gravity was easy stuff. He also looked ridiculous. Harry's eyes widened, but the costume wasn't the reason; it was his tracking spell. He'd headed here for a reason, and the reason had found him.

Peter Parker was the masked man.

Peter cocked his head to the side curiously. "You know, you're not the first fancy-dressed fellow to come by this city, but I think you have the whole Goth look down best. I'm sure it works with the ladies. Shadowy cowl, really?"

"...Who are you supposed to be?"

"I'm offended, Mr. British," Peter responded as he crossed his arms, somehow balancing on the wall with just his feet. "Clearly you haven't been reading New York's finest news paper, the esteemed Daily Bugle, if you don't recognize this handsome gob. That rag will tell you all about my status as public menace, crazy costumed clown – I like the alliteration – and of course, masked vigilante extraordinaire." He paused for effect, and Harry just stared sceptically. "Fine, be  _that_ way. I'm Spider-Man. There's a hyphen in there, by the way."

"Well, I suppose I should have guessed that I'm not the first weirdo around here," Harry said after a moment. "I've been running into you guys a lot..." He wondered if Tony knew about this, about whatever Peter Parker was doing with his feet; it was clearly not normal. Indeed, he was walking on walls like … well, a spider, he supposed. More people with superhuman abilities, it seemed, and practically on the first day he arrived. Probably this was what S.H.I.E.L.D. meant when they were talking about getting more and more work. Peter was one of these new arrivals.

"I'm the Magician, when the papers bother to name me at all," Harry said at last.

Peter dropped off the wall and landed lightly on his toes. "Really? The guy who hangs out with Tony Stark and the Iron Man? That's  _awesome._ I've considered paying L.A. a visit, but on my income I'm going to get nowhere fast..." He paused. "So... what are you doing on my turf? This city isn't big enough for the both of us," he said then, mimicking guns with his fingers. After a few moments he hung his head. "No? I could have used a good fight, the Serpents have been too calm lately."

"Actually, I'm not really visiting as such," Harry admitted. "Tony is moving here, to the city. I sort of tag along, I suppose."

"Tony Stark? In New York?" Peter asked, perplexed. "You don't suppose I could get him to check out some of my little knick-knacks, do you? I like to think I'm a bit of a tech whiz." He tapped his wrists."I'm sure he'd have a hundred improvements in mind for these babies... Well, I suppose he doesn't, not  _yet._ "

"I can ask him," Harry said after a moment. "He's a bit indisposed at the moment, but you'll see his ads appearing everywhere, I'm sure. I think he wants to make this his new centre of business. Big skyscraper and everything."

"Nice. I can always use more spots to swing from."

"Swing from?" Harry asked.

Peter raised his hands, and some kind of thread fired out of the wrist area of his suit, attaching solidly to the wall. He pulled the thin cord a few times, and it seemed incredibly powerful for its thickness, easily sustaining the full weight of the boy without the slightest problem.".

"Cool," Harry said, glancing at Peter's wrist. "How are you making this stuff? Do you actually make it organically?"

"No, no, that would be silly. Spiders don't shoot it out of their wrists, they do it out of their... Well, definitely not. How about your fire stuff?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He pulled out his wand, aiming it at he wall. With half a thought a spell blasted out, and the very stone caught ablaze for a moment, partially melting, before the heat stopped and Harry lowered his hand again. He shrugged. "Incantation's  _Incendio,_  used to set things on fire. It's magic. Sorry, can't be much more specific."

"Well, that was helpful," Peter muttered, though he looked very intrigued by the damage done and the Elder Wand in particular. "Do you do anything besides blowing up stuff with that thing?"

"Lots." He twirled it around, slipping it back in his pocket. "Honestly, I think I've forgotten half the spells I ever learned; you only use a pretty limited selection in daily life. I've been thinking about adding some new ones to my repertoire. Maybe we can swap ideas sometime."

"So... you can use magical powers, and you use them to hang out on old roofs and possibly sneak around without anyone noticing you. Have to give it to you, it's pretty much the same thing I do." He flipped up the wall again, balancing easily. "I fight crime, beat up crooks, get usual stuff."

"Fight crime, huh? What kind do you get around here?"

"Nothing really special," Peter said immediately. "Robbers, bank heists, the occasional weirdo in spandex, mutant giant lizards..." He shrugged. "It's interesting, I'll tell you that. How about out on the west coast?"

"Robots, mostly," Harry deadpanned. "Oh, we have terrorists, too... The kind with robots."

"Boring," Peter chanted. "I went toe-to-toe with a guy with three times as many arms as he's supposed to have. That's kind of cool, I think. I got to make lots of puns."

"I rode a nuke into the stratosphere," Harry countered, and he was gratified he didn't receive an immediate response to that. "I stopped it, obviously. I flew after it on this broomstick." He tapped his Cloudskimmer, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish. "Yeah, I'm done bragging."

"Well, can you  _web-sling?_ " Peter asked. "I thought not." He nodded in satisfaction, as if he'd won some argument. Harry didn't bother to get into it.

"You're quite young," he commented after a few moments. "Granted, I'm hardly old, but you're  _really_  young to be doing this kind of stuff. What makes you go out and dress up so you can beat up criminals that could kill you? Seems a little risky, doesn't it, even for someone with spider tricks?"

Peter fell silent, and Harry thought he knew why. Peter had been there when his uncle had died, had been present when the bullet flew. If he had half the ability then that he had now, he might indeed have been able to save the man in time. He was trying to make the world a better place, as Mrs. Parker had said.

"I have the power to do this," the boy said at last. "Young or not, you know? I can go around and protect people, get bad guys behind bars, that sort of thing. I figured I should be responsible and actually do it, now that I have the ability."

"So, you're a good Samaritan?" Harry asked. "Not a bad motivation, actually."

"What about you?"

Harry smiled. "I think I can find myself in that as well. It's a good way to live."

Peter nodded, and Harry picked up his broom again, which he'd set against the wall. "Say, Spider-Man. In a few months, Tony's opening his place, and most of us will be here to see it open. I'd appreciate it if you came by, too. As you are now, or in your civilian identity."

"Civilian-"

"Yes, I know it," Harry said honestly, peering through his darkened hood. "I won't betray your identity,  _Peter_ , just as I trust you will not betray mine. It's not good business." He pulled back his hood, exposing his face.

Peter's eyes widened. "You! You were at my house! You were following me!"

"Me," Harry agreed. "My name is Harry, by the way."

"So, what were you doing at my place? What about in the street?" Peter wondered, narrowing his eyes. "That's off-limits from now on, alright? What if someone found out that I lived there, or that I knew someone like you?"

"If anyone does, they've been keeping it quiet," Harry said easily. "I was at your house to visit your aunt for personal reasons, ones that we may discuss in the future. I followed you because she asked me to check up on you. She's worried."

"I thought you didn't know about Spider-Man? Then how...?"

"I'm a wizard," Harry said evasively. "It's hardly the point how I know, just that I do. Now you know what I look like. I promise, I didn't glamour my face or anything, so we're even." Harry thought back to his meeting with Death, to her description of a single death saving a thousand lives. Benjamin's death had seemingly led Peter to his life as protector of the people of New York. Did that mean that his own run-in with the teen had already been foreseen? Did Peter have some role as Spider-Man that would save so many people?

Peter seemed mollified by Harry's explanation for a moment. "Definitely keep my name out of things, alright? Tell  _nobody_ about me, alright? If anyone comes after Aunt May or Gwen because of me..."

"Tell you what," Harry said after a moment. "I'll fly by your house, and put up a few protective spells. Won't stop a very persistent crook, unless I make them seriously powerful, but they should at least buy some time and warn me of the attempt. I don't know who this Gwen is, but I suppose I might as well do it there, too. Might ease your mind a little."

"You want to set up... magical protections," Peter summarized. "You're serious."

"I  _am_ a wizard," Harry said again.

"Harry the wizard, I got it," Peter mused. "Shouldn't you be in Chicago, then?"

Harry blinked in confusion. "Why?"

"Well, you even call your spells faux-Latin names, what conclusion am I supposed to draw? Shouldn't you go bother some cops?" Peter cocked his head to the side. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Not the foggiest clue."

"You ought to read more."

* * *

"What are we dealing with?"

"Tarleton, first name unknown. Suspected terrorist that was the victim of an experimental weapon." The doctor shoved Tarleton's arms down his chest to show bruises around his neck. "This whole shackles thing is very medieval, by the way. I know he's a prisoner, but this?"

"Says here that he displayed unusual physical attributes," the second said as she glanced over the medical files. "That's probably why he's tied up. Superior reflexes, possibly speed and strength enhancements. He's sedated on top of his catatonia right now, so we wouldn't be getting any reaction even if he were healthy."

The first doctor hummed under her breath, shining a little penlight into the patient's eyes, but there was barely any response. "Definitely comatose from whatever he was hit with, no detectable brain damage though. Has the same general symptoms as a strong concussion, though we don't have details."

"The report notes a small puncture wound on his back that seems to be several weeks old, but reports state it was caused only day ago, and it was easily shrugged off by him at the time. What's that about, Pulanski?"

"This guy took an arrow in the spinal cord and walked away," Doctor Pulanski muttered darkly. "I have the arrow in the archive; there's definitely some of this guy's blood on it, so it checks out that far. Of course, how the hell he survived that and walked away is beyond me. He tests as perfectly normal on everything I've tried, even MRI and blood tests."

"So... what? He had incredible luck?"

"No." Pulanski slowly pulled Tarleton on his side, exposing the wound. "I've checked three times, and the wound just stops at his spinal cord. As if the arrow nicked it and somehow went in on both sides, and was then pushed back out. The actual arrowhead, however, is whole."

"It healed," the other agreed. "A spinal cord doesn't heal overnight."

"I've got several dozen samples in analysis," Pulanski said. "If this is a form of superior regeneration, then he's the first stable subject that I've ever heard. It might just be repair of the nervous system, since his superficial wounds seem unaffected. That's still a giant leap from what we have right now."

Their conversation was interrupted by a rattling breath, and they immediately tensed when Tarleton moved on his own, twitching slightly as he wiggled his arms sideways, the chains rattling softly against each other.

"He's awake," Pulanski said immediately, stepping over to face him. "He shouldn't be. Call Fury, now."

The second doctor nodded quickly, sending a nervous glance at the twitching Tarleton before she went for the phone. Pulanski frowned as Tarleton's eyes rolled in his sockets, slowly focusing on her face.

"Are you alright?" She asked. "You shouldn't move, you're restrained. You might hurt yourself."

Tarleton swallowed, his pupils dilated. He shook his head, slurring a word or two before he spoke more clearly. "Where?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," Pulanski said apologetically. "We are retrieving someone who can speak more directly to you. Please remain calm."

Tarleton scowled, raising a hand to his neck carefully, dragging the chains along. He touched the impressions that Harry's fingers had left, and smiled. "He let me live." He laughed silently, as if sharing some joke with himself that nobody else would get. "He let me  _live._  Wrong choice."

Tarleton was off the table in an instant, chains breaking and snapping under his sudden movement. Pulanski had just enough time to jump back to avoid getting smacked by the heavy metal shackles that fell to the ground in a pile. High-tech as they'd been, now they were only scraps. Tarleton rubbed his wrists. "He had one chance, had me at his mercy, and he let it slip. Fool." He turned to the door, noting that it was closed with a bright display next to it. "You, woman. Open the door."

"N-N-"

"That had better not be a 'No'," Tarleton said sharply. "Move to the door, or I'll kill you." He snatched a medical instrument off the table, snapping off everything but the razor-sharp middle, almost like an icepick. "I will not ask again."

" _Do not follow his instructions,"_  Fury's voice suddenly cut over the radio. _"I repeat, do not follow his instructions. The terrorist cannot be allowed to leave the base."_

Pulanski squeezed her eyes shut, shivering.

"So, that is how you work, is it?" Tarleton said, glancing at the ceiling. "Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer? How far am I from you, S.H.I.E.L.D. Director?" He smiled. "Oh, yes. I know where I am, now. Very good. Very risky to have me here, you know."

" _The room you are in has been hermetically sealed,"_  Fury responded immediately.  _"The instant our security cameras detected that you were active, emergency lockout went into effect. It is a procedure to avoid exactly this situation. You are not getting out of that room unless I give the explicit order."_

"Ah, but I am not here alone, am I?" He glanced down at the cowering doctor. "I have one of yours, and she does not wish to die, I believe." He leaned down, smiling. "Is that not true, medic?"

" _We do not negotiate with the likes of you._

"Ah, of course," Tarleton smiled, brandishing his knife. "You will sacrifice your own to kill me, isn't that right? How will you attempt it? Arrows, again? Bullets? Will you bring your pet magician to sear my mind once more?"

" _A low-level dose of nerve-gas has been circulating in your room for the last three minutes,"_ Fury said immediately.  _"All S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are inoculated against the most dangerous effects. You, however, have thirty seconds of rational thought remaining."_

Tarleton stilled. "Do you think that will work on me, Director? A bluff?"

" _Is it?"_  Fury's voice got very quiet.  _"Listen to me, you son of a bitch! I know exactly who you are. I've been tracing your every movement over the last few years, and I know that there is an inconsistency. Three years you were missing, without a trace. Last known coordinates? New Mexico. A little town that we already knew about through another observation. I can reach some conclusions from that alone."_

Tarleton snorted as Pulanski's eyes slipped closed. She'd succumbed to the gas. "So it is real, this nerve agent. It seems that you have underestimated its effectiveness, however." He set a step towards the door, raising an eyebrow. "Will you let me out, now? Or must I break this door?"

" _Tarleton, if that is indeed your name..."_

Tarleton smirked, putting his hand against the metal before him, right besides the panel that would allow access with the right key combination and a card. "You know what's so helpful about these bases of you government agencies? They're all made of  _metal_. You know what that does? It conducts. Electricity, sure, but also signals."

The door opened smoothly, and Tarleton stepped out without any trouble. Three other doors also slid apart before he even got to them, leaving an open path for him. Three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents collapsed as he passed them, holding their ears; a fourth faltered before he even reached him, flailing away in a panic.

"You think you can keep me here, Director? I am more than you. Last time, you caught me by surprise. This time, you are not so lucky." He smiled as he passed through the hallway without any resistance, several agents lying down in the hallway. "You really should be more careful in insulating your suits, you know. It seems that my little shock has made some here rather sleepy..."

* * *

"Damn it." Fury turned to the door. "Where the hell have you been, Stark?"

"In the infirmary. You know, on account of my injuries. What the hell crawled up your-"

"Tarleton is loose," Fury snapped. "I have at least six confirmed deaths and he's still on the ship. Whatever the hell he's doing, it's destroying every damn computer along the way."

Tony immediately wrenched himself upright, ignoring his painful leg as he made his way over. "When."

"Five minutes," Fury said. "We had an alert. Next thing we know, Tarleton's taken a hostage. He ripped right out of titanium bonds. He's no ordinary human." Fury tapped his screen, pulling up general information. "This is what we know about him. He's been missing for over three years, vanishing right where an anomalous energy signature has been reported, both recently and in the past."

"Is that significant?"

"Tell me, genius. This guy's checking out as human on everything we've thrown at him, but he's doing  _this_  with nothing but underwear on him." Fury gestured at the screen, where Tarleton slowly walked through the hallway, smiling enigmatically. "Whatever he's doing, it's knocking people out before they even get close to him. If he was able to do this back in Chile, then he certainly didn't show it."

"Or he knew it would do him no good," Tony said. "My suit is well-isolated, his electrical tricks wouldn't phase me in the least. He knows I'd have blasted him to pieces if he'd so much as tried it. I guess he wasn't capable of it when Harry got busy with his freaky mind thing."

"Which had absolutely no effect, it seems," Fury muttered. "Either he was faking it all along, or the catatonia was of a very short-lived nature. Either way, he's probably been waiting for an opportunity to escape without anyone getting close."

"Which implies that he's vulnerable up close. Always, or just right now." Tony frowned as he checked the Helicarrier's maps. "Why did you lock him up here? You should have put him somewhere on land."

"And have the army take him? I think not." Fury tapped his map, enlarging the area. "Those walls are hardened titanium alongside more radiation shielding than you can imagine. We could throw a tiny nuke in there to sterilize things; believe me, that comes in handy. Seems that Tarleton used it to his advantage, though. Sent some kind of signal through the metal."

"Clever, definitely clever,." Tony frowned. "Why is Barton there? He's like twenty-five feet away from the mad-man..."

"He's doing his job," Fury muttered. "Assassination. If we can't contain this guy, then we take him out. The first solution failed, the second was countered. He's the third."

"A guy with  _bow and arrow_  is your back-up plan?" Tony wondered. "You know, you don't really display the  _intelligence_ in intelligence agency." He glanced back at his wheelchair, and quickly hobbled back over, dropping into it with a sigh. "He's about ten minutes from the outside at this slug's pace. Enough time for a proper fourth plan, right?"

Fury stared. "What are you going to do?"

Tony smiled, tapping his chair. "I made a few... upgrades. You won't believe how much you can get done with voice-controlled equipment. Your labs are a true marvel, you know that?"

"Stark..."

"Lock and load, Director. Lock and load."

* * *

Barton edged around the corner ever so slowly, keeping his breathing steady. The arrow he was using was a special one: It was meant for high profile killing, no matter the damage. Slicing beams of white-hot death for a split second on impact, powerful enough to sear through several inches of pure titanium before petering out. Positively ghastly on a human being.

He'd been enjoying a little time in his bunk, watching old movies and stringing his bows, when the emergency call had arrived. He always carried a pager of sorts for those kinds of things. As one of several trained assassins, it wasn't the first time he'd been called somewhere in a hurry. He'd never been called to a location  _on the Helicarrier,_ though.

Tarleton was up; walking and talking, seeming exactly as much a bastard as he'd been when Clint had first shot him in the back. That time he'd used a pretty normal arrow, which would've severely injured anyone who was properly human. This time, he wasn't so conservative.

"Director, what pitiful defenses you have," Tarleton said mockingly as he opened another door without even getting near it. "So easily overwritten, these primitive programs of yours."

" _You're not human, are you?"_

"I have a human mind, in a sense," Tarleton said. "Do not worry about it, though. You will not have time to find out all there is to know. Do you believe the world will still be here in a year or two? How about five?"

" _Yes. I mean to see that happen."_

"You will die long before you see the glory of the empire that will rule all, then." He smiled. "I am only an example of what humanity could become."

"Oh, shut the hell up," Barton barked as he loosed his arrow. It flew straight at Tarleton, its aim true. In the split second it took to reach him, Tarleton's arm snapped forward; with a shuddering flash of light, the charge detonated. Then there was no arm.

Tarleton stood, staring, most of his arm entirely gone. What remained of it, up to the elbow, was singed; from below the broken skin emerged metal elements, some kind of prosthetic.

"That wasn't on any of your scans," Clint said as he grabbed another arrow and launched it. This time the arrow was easily avoided, and he edged back from the man who was still staring at his new wound.

"I will have it replaced," Tarleton said at last. He turned without a second glance towards the outside, walking stiffly. The wound had to hurt a lot, but his gait was easy, and there was no blood.

" _Another damn robot?_ " Fury said over the radio just as Clint went after Tarleton. At his second step, he froze. Not voluntarily; his muscles refused to move, his heart suddenly thudded in his chest.

"You harmed me," Tarleton said from a long way away, though it sounded like he was much closer, as if his voice echoed through the hallway. "For that, you will die."

The pain intensified, and Clint fell to one knee, grasping at his chest. Even through the rubber of his boots and the insulation in his gloves, the signals that Tarleton was using were making their way into his system, messing with his heart rhythm. "Damn... it..."

"Hasta la vista, baby."

The repulsor blasted past Clint and impacted Tarleton in the center of the chest, blowing him backwards, slipping through the hallway on his back until he came to rest against a door to the outside. It slid open at his approach, and Tarletonn remained still. A chill of cold air washed in just as Clint found himself steady again, breathing heavily. The signal was gone, his heart slowly steadying.

"You alright there, trooper?"

Clint looked up with incredulity at Tony Stark, seated within his wheelchair with a large repulsor cannon strapped to the right side, stabilized by four little legs on the bottom. The repulsor was already charging again as Tony wheeled forward through a small tap with is foot; an engine was strapped to the back of his ride, connected to the arc reactor in his chest.

"You crazy -"

"Let's see if he's dead first," Tony said shortly. "Then you can call me names. Awesome ones, of course." He continued towards Tarleton's limp form as Clint quickly followed, his racing heart returning to a more normal rhythm.

Tarleton was stretched out on his back, a clean hole through his torso. Whatever passed for guts was strewn across the floor, though it didn't look like actual organs; it seemed like some kind of piping system, flexible and gooey due to some kind of lubricant.

"He's a freaking cyborg," Tony said after a moment. "I don't know who the hell could do this, but almost everything here is artificial, and it's covered with living tissue all over. This is some serious Terminator technology."

"Has he croaked?"

"Probably best to go with the way to kill a zombie, since he probably counts. Double-tap in the head." Tony raised a eyebrow. "He's all yours, Robin Hood."

Before Clint could even get his arrows out, Tarleton flipped to his feet and was off through the door at full speed; Clint drew as quick as he could and fired anyway, and the first arrow smacked into the running man's shoulder; it didn't detonate.

"Damn it, I think he's already figured those out," Tony blurted as he set his wheelchair at full speed, though that was still pitifully slow. Clint passed him in moments, landing two more arrows with a single shot, though both hit the upper back rather than the head; they sparked, then died. Tarleton was heading to the edge of the Carrier- it was a few miles down from there, and there was no way they were going to retrieve a body that couldn't be distinguished from the real thig on scans. Assuming he couldn't survive a fall like that in the first place.

"Take him out!" Tony yelled urgently. "Cripple him!"

A barbed arrow buried itself into Tarleton's knee, a second following quickly; Tarleton limped on nevertheless, barely slowing down.

"Jarvis, configure the cannon for maximum width, minimal height." Tony glanced around him, nodding. "Right, nobody to hurt. Hawkeye, hit the deck! Literally!"

The moment Clint dropped, Tony fired. A very thin but brilliant beam of light seared from the repulsor cannon, lighting up the entire deck in an eerie blue glow. Tarleton stopped only a feet or two from the edge, crumpling very slowly as his head detached from the rest of his body. It had been severed clean off, and landed with a thud on the deck. It bounced once, twice, then careened over the edge, leaving its body behind.

"Damn, that was close."

Clint sighed, frowning at his bow. "I really need to expand my inventory. EMP arrows, maybe? Anything to slow these suckers down."

"I'll design them for you," Tony agreed as he rolled up to the body. "Wow, I'm coming up with way too many puns here. Way to lose your head? You really lost your mind, man?"

"I think I know where this is headed."

Tony smirked. "Jarvis, tell Fury that we headed him off before he could escape. He's all torn up about it, too."


	27. Bridge

"The bridge is sealed." Heimdall said gravely, his hands clasped around the hilt of his sword as he stared down at Sif, frowning. "To  _all_."

Sif ran a hand through her hair. "What does that mean, guardian? Why would the Bifrost be closed? You said nothing of the sort when I returned, and that was mere days ago!"

Heimdall shook his head sadly, leaning forward on his sword. "Odin All-Father decreed that the passage be closed behind you. He chose to do this because the unseen travel the paths of Yggdrasil. He cannot trust my guardianship any longer." He looked down in shame. "His word is law, as you well understand."

Sif sniffed. "So the All-Father chose to shut down the gate, for fear of  _ghosts_?" She balled her fist in frustration. "I cannot simply abandon Midgard to its problems, not after I have sworn to provide assistance. If Asgard will not help, then I shall. Please, Heimdall. It is important."

"Are you so eager to return to that desolate world, that you would violate my father's law?"

Sif turned with surprise to the new arrival. The speaker crossed the brilliantly sparkling rainbow bridge with slow steps, his armour and stag's helmet gleaming. "…Prince Loki?"

"The same," Loki agreed, smiling. "Asgard can survive without the bridge for a little while. Until these unseen forces are discovered, those who can hide themselves from even Heimdall's sight, it is imperative that none pass into the other realms. They could be in danger, or they could take danger back with them into Asgard itself."

Sif hesitated. "There are those in the other worlds that deserve Asgardian support. The Seidhr are our ancient allies, after all, and it is the last of their kind that I have visited."

"I have heard of this," Loki responded easily, raising an eyebrow. "Trust me when I say that the survival of Midgard and the Seidmadr are of concern to me as well. Such ancient wisdom as the Seidhr race maintained cannot be lost, and perhaps through him, Asgard will regain it? Alas… the risk upon ourselves is too great."

"Protection of Asgard is important, but there may be other ways to enter this realm, as we have long feared," Sif noted. "We invite our enemies to fight where we cannot stop them. If the Bifrost is not open to them, from where will they come? They are too versatile to let such a limitation keep them from us, I am certain."

"Only Odin can travel without the Bifrost," Loki observed. "What of this Seidmadr, whom I have heard so much about? Would he travel to us through these secret ways?"

"Even if he did, his allegiance is with Midgard, not with anyone who means us trouble. If he were to come here, it would be in honour, not disgrace." She glanced at Heimdall. "You have seen him, have you not? His character is one of honour, not of treachery."

The guardian of the bridge did not answer for a little while. "The Seidmadr is one of those who can hide from my sight," he said at last, reluctantly. "I have known it since I first realized his presence. All Seidhr are faded in my vision, as they were in ages past, but none so much as he. He carries something of great power. Terrible power."

Sif paused, and the guardian's pained expression told her enough. "He is the reason you have locked the gate, isn't he? Not some mysterious ghostly figured, it's because of  _him._  You have barred the way to our long-time ally, on the slim chance that he might do us harm? The very person to whom the All-Father himself extended the hand of invitation already?"

"A privilege he has chosen to deny."

"Because he has honour!" Sif exclaimed. "The humans of Midgard are developing very quickly. The Seidmadr identifies with them, he protects them. A short time ago he tore a machine of death from the sky, with no regard for his own safety, to guard people that he did not even know. He is not one to take sanctuary for himself alone, if it means his people die."

"The All-Father's words were very clear," Heimdall stated. "The Seidhr were our allies, but they went extinct. It has been centuries since the agreements, we cannot abide by them now as if nothing has happened. Even old bonds break, Lady Sif. The grace that Odin offered him has been revoked. Now is not the time for sympathy."

Sif paused, hesitating. "Now is not the time? The coronation would not change this. No… You speak of the Odinsleep. Does he slumber at last?"

Heimdall looked away. "I cannot speak for the All-Father in all things. He still wakes."

"You are correct, Lady Sif," Loki said with a grave expression. "The All-Father tires. I spoke to him before on this. He means to delay his sleep until the coronation, but it is approaching swiftly. His efforts to discover how the Seidhr survive have exhausted him, and he is very old…"

Sif shivered uncomfortably at the thought of Odin passing away after such a long reign. "What has he determined in his search, Prince Loki?" Sif inquired. "Who is Harry, if not our ally?"

Loki cocked his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. "Who is he? I do not know, which is troubling. He is the only one on Midgard with potential, the only one who could reach our lofty heights, though I do not know if he would be interested in such pursuits. His sorcery, infinitely vast in its possible uses, is poorly trained and controlled. He is no threat to anyone as yet."

Sif frowned. "How could you know such things?"

A bracelet around Loki's wrist changed into a little snake spontaneously, hissing contentedly. After a few moments it intertwined with itself and turned back to brass. "It is merely an understanding of one sorcerer for another. There is a connectedness in all things, and the Seidmadr has barely grasped that it exists, much less tried to understand it. He muddles on without a rudder, attempts to sail in a universe without a breeze."

"I do not think he would appreciate being looked down upon," Sif noted.

"I do not mean it as an insult," Loki said almost immediately. "There are far too few who take up the noble pursuit of arcane knowledge, even when they know its uses. The fact that he lives among those inferior to himself, whom he could easily blend in with, but chooses to use his abilities? It speaks well for him. I would greatly enjoy meeting him, I believe."

Sif glanced at the closed passage. "Not without a bridge."

"Right you are, but that will be discussed  _after_  the crowning. You will be there, I expect? It is mere weeks now, due to Father's fatigue. Thor has been preparing all week, and I believe he is nervous. It will be a glorious day, I believe."

"I will be there," Sif agreed, and she sighed. "I will bring up the matter of the bridge at a later time, then."

"Your Seidmadr is not so easily defeated, I am certain," Loki commented. "It has been centuries since we last set foot on Midgard, before now. It will survive without us for a while longer."

* * *

The half-mechanical corpse lay scattered in pieces across four different tables, labelled and categorized neatly. Tony walked among them with a focused expression, occasionally picking up a piece and putting it back down, humming under his breath as he considered their texture and workings. As he reached the last table, he doubled back, frowning.

"You can start any day now, Stark."

Tony didn't answer immediately, walking back to the first table, covered with the smallest parts. He picked up one widget he had pried out of the body before any of the others, and briefly juggled with it. It was small and round, glowing dimly even now, though it was detached.

Finally, he spoke. "I'm suing these bastards for copyright infringement, just so you know." He sniffed. "They even turned it into a sphere, for crying out loud. Stereotypical unknowable machines are always spheres. It's like a sci-fi law of unoriginality or something."

Fury grunted in annoyance. "Give me your analysis,  _please._ You've had more than enough time to sift through this ever-increasing pile of bits and pieces. What is it?"

Tony held up the piece of hardware and tapped it with his fingers. "See this here? His heart, if that's what you can call it, when he doesn't technically have organic organs. It was hooked up much like a real one, with wires instead of arteries. Tarleton here, or the android made to look like him, was running on a knock-off arc reactor."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Is it one of yours?"

Tony shook his head firmly. "Definitely not Stark tech. Same principle, but different execution entirely. It's actually much more similar to my first version, which was based on the big one in Los Angeles, rather than any of my newer models. This particular unit can reach about half the potential energy as my current reactor, and mine can go higher still in a pinch. This one's far inferior, but good enough for the energy needs of this body, it appears. It is quite efficient."

Fury frowned. "So you're telling me someone invented robots that act like humans, but decided to put an energy source in it that you only recently invented?"

"The big one's been there for decades," Tony pointed out. "I believe I'll need to search through some of the stuff that Pepper stashed away after Harry tossed half a missile through my window and burned my house down. My father's stuff."

"You think it has anything to do with  _him?_ "

Tony shook his head. "More than likely, someone figured out the one in LA, and independently figured out how to miniaturize it. Impressive, but not impossible. I did it, after all." He paused as he put down the reactor. "Either we're dealing with someone who has in-depth knowledge of this kind of technology,  _or_  we're dealing with technology scavengers. I'm thinking the latter is the more likely. This technology is completely divorced from most of the rest of this stuff."

"Robots and arc reactors… You should be glad you're not a suspect." Fury muttered.

"Tarleton wasn't a robot, so I get a free pass on this one." Tony gestured at the third table over, the most disgusting out of all of them. It was covered in piles of real human tissue, removed from its mechanical shell. The organic material was a few inches thick in places, and covered on the inside with a thin layer of a reflective substance, where it had adhered to metal and plastic.

Tony picked up a bit, and showed it to Fury. "This is what is so amazing about Tarleton, beyond just the fact that this kind of technology is  _possible_ at all. This  _was_  living tissue, blood and everything. He had artificial cybernetic organs for literally every function; not a single organic part that's actually original. This thing could digest food like a human, and incorporate it into its organic external parts, and consume metals to repair internal flaws. It's a marvel of engineering on every level." He paused. "I just realized... He's a  _Terminator."_

"What?"

"I'm a cybernetic organism," he said, miming robotic movements. "Living tissue over a metal endoskeleton. My mission is to protect you." Tony mimed, scowling. "No? Man, Terminator 2 was  _awesome._  You really missed out."

Fury just stared dully. "Pop culture references aside, you still haven't told me who the hell did this," he added. "Super-advanced androids don't just pop out of nowhere."

"Cyborgs, and they might pop out of the future, you know," Tony noted. "There's one other conclusion that I have to draw. Harry was capable of interacting with Tarleton via his little mind trick, and I  _seriously_  doubt he can read the minds of computers, since he barely knows how to operate his phone."

"Which means."

Tony shrugged. "I think Tarleton is pretty much the holy grail of futurists. A human brain in an artificial body, no longer enslaved to the whims of nature. I bet that the brain can last pretty indefinitely too, if you have this kind of tech. Just short of mind uploading, I'd say." He smiled triumphantly as he looked over the remains. "In time, I can probably figure out how all of this works, and that would be some serious scientific advancement. Kurzweil, eat your heart out, it'll all be Stark. Imagine the advances that could come from just what we have here, artificial organs just as effective as the real ones, perhaps better. Screw those experiments with pig valves or pacemakers, we're dealing with functional metal replacement hearts! I could probably use one myself."

Fury groaned. "Will you please stop diverting away from my questions? Who made this thing? Where did it come from, Stark?"

"It's not from around here."

Fury scowled. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It's not from this  _planet_ ," Tony said dryly, stretching out the words. "I put as many samples as I could through the spectrometer, trying to figure out what it's made of. What it tells me is that most of the metallic bits in here weren't exposed to earthly doses of radiation at all, or only for a short time. Some parts show signs of extensive radioactive weathering; they were probably retrieved from nearby an active and volatile star, or from the middle of the nastiest radioactive spill imaginable. I'd guess a planet approximately Mercury's orbit, or closer. Other parts here are contaminated with Iridium, an element that we really only find in small amounts on Earth, since it comes mostly from asteroids." He picked up a short metal bit from the table; the remains of one of Tarleton's fingers. "And then there's this."

"A finger?"

"It's made of something remarkable. An extremely durable metal that I've never seen before," Tony explained. "It's an alloy of sorts with some pretty freaky traits, such as near invulnerability to shock. It shares some traits with another rare metal that we do know about, actually." He looked up, frowning. "And that stuff is from space too, funnily enough."

"Vibranium." Fury said immediately. "A cache was stolen from Wakanda, a small nation state in Africa. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been researching the circumstances of the theft, but the leader of that country will not allow strangers across the border, and has the power to enforce that law. A.I.M. was implicated in the theft, but there was no known motive, since the substance is very dangerous in its raw form and nobody's been able to turn it into a proper weapon."

"Tarleton probably knew how to make this stuff," Tony theorized. "Vibranium in itself isn't very helpful, but an alloy can be powerful; just look at Captain America's fancy shield. Only Tarleton's fists and parts of his torso are made of this weird alloy, which suggests he wasn't done generating enough to upgrade his own systems. He prioritized protecting his 'heart' and augmenting his ability to deflect projectiles with his limbs. If he'd gotten any further with this stuff, my blast through his abdomen or his arm wouldn't have worked at all."

"So, it's a cyborg made out of alien materials." Fury shook his head. "What the hell is this world coming to?"

"If whoever Tarleton works for is indeed responsible for the kidnappings of scientists and engineers, I'd say this cyborg's probably not alone out there, since the attacks happened in so many locations across such a large area, and some of them quite close together in time. We could be dealing with a whole host of these things," Tony warned. "And as lifelike as Tarleton was, we have no idea who else might be one of them. We're basically blind, right now."

"Tarleton vanished for three years," Fury pointed out. "Presumably he was taken, and  _changed_. Anyone who's suddenly disappeared for a long period should be under suspicion." He paused. "Wait, if the cyborgs aren't from Earth..."

"Aliens," Tony said, smirking. "Extraterrestrials exist, and they're already gunning for us. I'm not all that surprised. You've already met one, anyway, so it shouldn't be too weird for you either."

"What?" Fury looked at Tony with an expression halfway between incredulity and something worse. "What do you mean?"

"Sif, the warrior lady type that threw a knife at my face? You know, tall, dark, and sexy?"

"...She's an  _alien_?"

"What did you think? That Harry just found himself an amazon somewhere? Think again." Tony turned back to the table. "She's not important right now, but finding these Terminator things is. Tarleton showed up as human on everything, according to his medical file. Blood samples, CT, he even responded to drugs as if they were working normally. At least, until he decided to ditch the disguise, then it seemed to be purged from his system in moments. We'll need something more powerful than those to find the fakes." He smiled. "I have some ideas about that. Maybe I can jury-rig something, MacReady style."

"Of course you do," Fury said tiredly. "I will be informing the Council of the situation. I'm still trying to find a way to tell them that we have alien invaders on our doorstep, without them firing me for being insane. You deal with these things, and I'll deal with that. I want a way to find any moles on the Helicarrier as quickly as possible."

Tony nodded. "Roger. I'm going to find some hot wires and a blood sample. Might as well begin with the tried and true."

Fury paused at the door, turning back. "Stark, there is something else that I'd like to give you. I've been holding onto it for a few decades, and I think you might appreciate it." He raised an eyebrow. "It's about your father."

* * *

" _We need to close the gates. At this rate, we'll only have enough supplies to last us the winter,_ maybe.  _We're not going to keep everyone alive with duplicated loaves and fish."_

" _I know, my boy." A tall, bald man stepped forward, shushing the panicking student with a gesture. "There are yet many that wish to enter these walls, can we really deny them in good conscience?" He shook his head tiredly. "We must let them in, or we become the same as our enemies. It's at times like these that we must band together, no matter our differences. We can save in-fighting for prosperous times."_

_There was a great conflagration in the sky, and crackling thunder. There were dark shapes in the clouds, the spectres of death that hung over the world, though they were unconcerned with the little villages a few miles downwind, where the commoners lived. No, they were hunting, searching._

" _You should get inside," The tall man said. "We will have to act quickly, no matter what happens, to keep the people safe from the destruction that is bearing down on us. When the enemy stands on our doorstep, we will close the gate."_

" _I – I understand," the boy replied. "Can't I… can't I help, somehow? You know that I'm gifted. If you told me what to do, maybe I can do something?" He raised his wand, frowning. "Together, maybe?"_

_The man sighed, rubbing his forehead. "If there is no other choice, I will ask you to assist. As it is, however, it is a teacher's task to guard their students, not the reverse. Go, find your house-mates and make sure they are in good health."_

" _I will do that, but… what about you, Professor?" The boy shivered, looking at the destruction above with apprehension. "Will the walls keep them out at all? Or will they overrun us as well?"_

" _Leave those concerns to your elders," the bald man said uneasily. "See to it that the dungeons are secured. I cannot afford to divert my attention at the moment." He paused. "Lock the hidden passage."_

" _Lock it?"_

" _As permanently as you can manage. If we make it out of here, we will have the time to dismantle the protections at our leisure. If we do not…" He raised an eyebrow as he glanced aside. "Well? Why are you still here, Ambrosius?"_

_In the next instant, the world caught on fire. Standing by the battlements, staring neutrally over the fiery sky and hundreds of refugees, her black hood pulled almost entirely over her face. Slowly she turned, and all that was visible was the dull gleam of polished bone._

_Death._

* * *

Harry sprang up from the couch with an incoherent yelp, and it took him a moment to gather himself again. His dream was still crystal clear in his mind, so familiar that he could have sworn he had just walked along the ramparts of that castle, had travelled through those hallways to reach his next class.  _Hogwarts_. He rubbed his forehead as he shook his head. That was the fourth time this week that he woke up with Hogwarts on his mind; he supposed this was homesickness, though it was the strangest form he'd ever heard of.

He found himself leaning haphazardly against a stylish couch, positioned in the middle of an otherwise fairly sparsely decorated room, though the few items that were there made it pretty clear who owned the place. Against the wall were a few circuit boards, a large spool of cable, and most of a chest plate with a neat round hole in the middle. Next to that, well, most of the wall opposite his position was not quite there anymore, and that was a recent development. Plaster was still raining down in large chunks, and light barely peeking through from the adjacent room. Harry glanced down, realizing he was holding his wand. He had to have drawn it by reflex, and it was a small boon that nobody had been in the way of his sleep-casting. Whoops.

"What the hell was that ruckus all about?" Tony stuck his head into the room, staring at the sofa and its haggard occupant. "Did you hear…" He paused, blinking, as he took in the state of the room. "So, you went for redecoration. Hate to inform you, but I wasn't exactly done yet, so it's a bit early for that stuff."

Harry looked on sheepishly as he dragged himself upright, dusting off his clothes which had gotten covered in dust. "I fell asleep, and waking up was a bit violent." That had been one realistic dream, if that's what it was. He raised a hand to his head, and felt his skin; it was sweaty and strangely cold. "Man, it's been awhile since one of those, I had almost forgotten." He glanced back. "I've been having crappy nights, so I sort of crashed. Sorry."

Tony raised an eyebrow as he studied the large hole that had suddenly appeared in his wall. "Were you nostalgic about the hole in the old house, or something? This one's too small to use as a quick exit, though, and I don't think the neighbours would like me crossing through there, anyway. You should probably be glad that they're out."

Harry grumbled as he began repairing the mess with a few quick flicks of his wand. "Ever since that mess with the missile I've been having trouble with my sleep rhythm. I attributed it to using Legilimency, at first, but I'm pretty sure that's not it. I think I might be missing home, a little. Go figure."

"Which results in nightmares that include destroying your general surroundings?" Tony inquired, sighing. "Maybe you should go visit your home, then. I mean, you can teleport, distance doesn't mean crap to someone like you."

"There's nothing to go back to, really," Harry muttered, frowning. "I told you-"

"Well, you're from jolly old England, aren't you? Go visit that general area, compliment some people, cheerio," Tony answered, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure you can score some tea and exchange polite and quaint expressions with whatever stately gentlemen you come across. Maybe you can swing by 221b Baker Street while you're there, and get me an autograph."

"…From?"

"Jeez, Sherlock, you call yourself British?" Tony asked irritably. "You are aware that everyone's having a glorified vacation, right? They don't call it that, of course, but this is about as peaceful as it gets, the world isn't ending, and I actually have time to do something slowly and methodically, instead of by the seat of my pants. Since shit's going to hit the fan sooner or later, you should be taking advantage of this time to do stuff you've been putting off."

"I  _have_  been spending my time well," Harry complained. "I've been out and about almost every day!"

"Yes, I know. You've been patrolling the city," Tony observed. "If you count that as a job, and I certainly do, then you're probably doing more now than you were back in Malibu. Not much of a vacation." He shrugged. "Granted, I've taken the suit for a spin to blast some bad guys on a rainy day, but if you're falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon, you probably should consider changing your ways. Why are you going out at night, anyway? You aren't trying to hide that you're around, given the pictures in the paper." He paused. "Oh. It's  _that_  guy, right?"

"Yes, I've been helping out Spider-Man, whenever he could use my presence. You still haven't met him, I remind you," Harry muttered as he rubbed his neck. When Harry's bloodshot eyes and general incoherence had been noticed when he had arrived at Tony's that morning, the man had immediately told him to either get a coffee drip going, or to sleep it off. He wasn't sure if it was Pepper's presence that had led him to be halfway civil, but he hoped it stuck. She was back at the construction site now, so he was sure that Tony's bluntness would be right back. The coffee she had poured him still stood on the table, cold. It was not the first time he had run himself nearly to exhaustion, and he wondered if it was worth it to use up some of his potions to counteract the effects.

Harry reached down to pick up a painting he had blown off the wall, and ran his wand down a large tear down the middle. He only realized afterwards that it was not a picture of Tony himself, as he had assumed, but someone who looked quite a bit like the billionaire, staring proudly outwards with a hawkish expression. He held the repaired painting before him for a long moment. "That's your father, isn't he?" He asked as he glanced at Tony. "Should have seen it this morning. I figured you were the type to have pictures of your own face."

Tony took the painting from him with a grim look, and returned it to its rightful place, gingerly tapping the freshly repaired wall to test its strength, just in case. He turned back to Harry and nodded shortly. "Yes, that is Howard Stark. Dear old dad. I have a few tales to tell about  _him."_ He frowned. "Not today, though."

Harry nodded, cleaning himself up with a quick spell that made it feel like someone had been running a steel-brush across his skin.

"You know, next time, you're paying for the damage. I could use the money to pay off what I owe Fury." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I might have accidentally blown up a small arc reactor on his Carrier."

"If you're broke enough that you need my money, you probably shouldn't be building a skyscraper," Harry said, sitting back down on the couch and frowning. "About the visit to Britain thing… It's not a bad idea, actually. I'm not going to find anything about the Seidhr in the New World, so I guess I'd have to cross the ocean anyway to track down what exactly went on there."

"Do as you want, I just mentioned that you have the opportunity," Tony responded. "Besides that, now that you're no longer eating up time with naps, you can help me out with something. I have a few tons of material that need proper enchanting, and I'm fresh out of wizards. There's also a few others things that you should be informed about. It's to do with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Maybe I'll look at that stuff later," Harry agreed. "Also, I distinctly remember that Fury wants me off his floating boat, because he thinks I will mind-control everyone to be my slaves, or something like that. I sort of doubt he wants to speak to me right now," he added dryly. "I'm not sure just how paranoid he is, but I can guess from the fact that he's watching his tongue, even when he's in trusted company. Of course, I can't really put his mind at ease, since magic is pretty amazing and terrifying at the same time, and most of his fears are justified. If there are real limits, I'm not sure they're anything more than artificially induced by wizards, or I simply haven't tried hard enough." He thought of the Hallows, and shivered.

"Well, trust issues aside, S.H.I.E.L.D. can't afford to lose track of your position because you're useful, and that's why they're so interested," Tony said easily. "Same is true with me. They were fine with leaving me to do whatever I wanted when it didn't intersect with their business, back when I was just regular ol ' Tony Stark, but now that I'm packing heat, I'm an asset. Although I think Fury prefers to drop the latter half of that word." He dropped into a chair, sighing contentedly. "The Iron Man is news material, you know? These people know that if they want to stop me from flying the suit, they'll have to take me out permanently, since I'll just build another one, and the second time they probably won't have any connections to get to me, or they have to risk a public confrontation. Staying friends is in their best interests. The same is true for you, and for Bruce."

"I've been popping up in the news too," Harry said uneasily. "Granted, I'm just another masked guy in a city that seems to be crawling with them, if Spider-Man's word is anything to go by, but I'm getting noticed. The Daily Bugle even maligns you, actually, for legitimizing masked crime fighting. I think he believes Iron Man and the Magician might turn the tide on public perception."

"Maybe, maybe not," Tony said darkly. "You are safely out of reach, since you don't actually work for anyone except Fury, and he's fine with that. Stark Industries is not quite that invulnerable. The military's already knocking on doors, and they've been getting in contact with subcontractors and financiers that have had dealings with me. I think I know what they're up to, and it's nothing good." He groaned. "They're going to try and sue for the Iron Man suit's plans, if not the thing itself."

"What would they file a lawsuit about?"

" Probably some invocation of international weapons regulations, I would guess. Private contractors can't usually fly experimental weapons into enemy territory, or even foreign territory for that matter. Not without permission. Unfortunately, my little adventure in Afghanistan caught some people's attention. Someone in Gulmira, in the middle of the armpit of the middle-east, took a whole lot of pictures."

Harry frowned. "You think they have a chance of winning something like that?"

"Probably," Tony said. "The Iron Man suit isn't designed to be some kind of army drone, it's designed as an ace in the hole, with me driving it. As I told Pepper, it's not really the suit that's Iron Man, it's me." He smiled thinly. "I don't intend to make it easy for anyone to get their hands on the tech, though. But, well, I'll probably end up testifying, and I bet I know some of the others who would be there. I can't just name-drop S.H.I.E.L.D. without getting Fury sputtering, so that's out. The army would crucify me if they realized I was bypassing them to work directly with  _that_  organization, anyway. I'm watching a few stories develop on the net that could help me out, though."

"Hmmm?"

"Someone saw your little stunt over the ocean," Tony noted. "I'm pretty sure they didn't get a good read on the altitude and so forth, but someone got your fancy fireworks onto Youtube and it spread all across the net from there. My name's not connected, not yet, but it's only a matter of time before more material comes in. Already I've seen alternate angles of the same events, and people were snapping pictures like mad when I retrieved Pepper and the others from my old house in a busted-up suit that was leaking blood around the edges." He sighed. "People will make the connection."

"You want to leak what happened, so it becomes plenty clear that you're using your technology for the common good," Harry deduced. "You want to tell the people of L.A. that a  _nuclear missile_ nearly wiped out their city, though? That's pretty insane."

"We can't let them stay ignorant, can we?" Tony snapped back. "We both know that this wasn't the end of things, and that whoever Tarleton's working with will be showing up on our doorsteps. A single missile will probably be the least of our problems, then. Why shouldn't the people know that there are folks on their side who combat this stuff?"

"You're going to cause panic with something like this. We're, what, half a dozen people? They'll think we're nuts."

"Not if we do it right," Tony said slowly. "Look, the old guard's sceptical of us in any case, we're probably not going to change their minds very much. It's the younger generation, our generation, that's going to determine public favour. They are the one who are sharing all the videos and media reports about us, about Spider-Man, about everyone else who is beyond the normal. If you think the television's been saturated, wait till you get online. We represent them, you know. We are the next step, the first who step into a bold future that a lot of people are all too eager to welcome."

"So, what are you planning?"

"JARVIS recorded the entire mission," Tony said after a moment. "Both from my suit's perspective, and from orbit, through S.H.I.E.L.D.'s satellite network. What would happen, do you think, if stuff like that began leaking onto the internet? You know, a kind of 'I am Iron Man, crime fighting badass, AMA' moment? Granted, Fury would be on me in seconds, but even he can't stop the flow of information once it gets going. His attempts to block it out will only Streisand the whole thing." He smirked. "He can't afford to lose me, and he knows that Bruce and you would probably side with me, so he'll bite the bullet and deal with the mess I created. The mainstream media will pick up on events, eventually, but by then it will already have diffused into the popular consciousness through the net, and I think we will come out smelling like roses."

"Sounds bloody risky."

Tony chuckled. "You already have a sizable fan club,  _Magician._ Just like me. There's whole sites and forums dedicated to scrounging up every fact that can be found about us, and about every other obscure fact that can be found even remotely related to us. Those people won't suddenly twist around when they find out that it was you that literally rode a rocket into space, or that I punched some terrorist in the face. If anything-"

"It'll be a nightmare," Harry muttered, and then he paused. "Aren't we going a bit far, here? If you need help with that court case, you know I could probably make it go away, without having to invoke these legions of fans. I could turn one of the lawmaker into a particularly near-sighted mole-rat, maybe. Or I could make people forget about there even being a case, too."

Tony snorted. "I think I'll try the legal way first, before I'm going Men In Black on this." He stood up, walking to the windows. Though only about six floors were semi-finished, the new building seemed to be growing every day, and in mere weeks it would peek over the first of the surrounding high-rises. "It will be days before I get the official paperwork, I think, and any lawsuit will take even longer to materialize. I have time to research my options. If I go ahead with releasing material on the web, it will be soon." He glanced over. "I'll try and keep Bruce out of it, but you're probably going to be connected to it pretty quickly, considering you are actually in my footage. Be aware of that, there's a good chance that local amateurs will be out to find you within hours, and the professionals within a day or two after that."

"Lovely," Harry muttered, glancing over the back of the sofa. "Your new tower's going to attract attention as well, with all the impossible design choices you made, like those free-floating segments. I don't know how long it would take until the lawsuit, but they're probably going to want that technology as well. How are you going to explain it? Besides, when did you have the time to design a building that relies on magic, anyway?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "The courts will sue because of the Iron Man suit, claiming it's a weapon. I'm pretty sure nobody's going to assume my house is a rocket, and I'd dare them to prove an accusation like that, even if they went that far. Besides, have you ever heard about the scientific method?" He raised an eyebrow. "The new building might rely on a bit of magic to keep it upright, but it does so in a myriad of different ways, and any single failure will not endanger the whole thing, nor even two at the same time. This way, if something breaks or fails, I know the limitations of your spells, and can adjust to that. If they don't, I have a kick-ass impossible home. Either way, I win."

"I don't think the scientific method is about  _winning,_ " Harry noted dryly. "And what if all this magic messes with your electronics?"

"The whole thing's going to run on one of these, of course," Tony said, tapping his chest. "A massive Arc Reactor's already under construction, ready to generate enough power for pretty much the whole neighbourhood. The computers are designed to take advantage of my suit's technology for the most part, since I know that stuff works pretty well around you. Besides, it's better than off-the-shelf hardware anyway, and I  _own_  the factories that can manufacture that stuff."

"I still don't get the Arc Reactor," Harry muttered as he reached out. "It still seems like magic to me, even now. I know pretty much how it's supposed to work from your description, but it's like something's missing. It should not work, but it does anyway, and the missing bit is magical, I think." He frowned. "Your father came up with this, I think you said?"

"Yes," Tony said shortly. "I think I would know whether or not I need to chant a foreign language under moonlight to make it work, though. There's no naked dancing, either."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Is there any chance that your father knew something about wizardry, the real stuff? Asgardians seem to know a thing or two, so it's not unreasonable that Muggles might retain some artefacts, or enchanted materials, even if the wizards are gone. The Seidhr must have left some artefacts around, though they are extinct themselves

"All the notes from his research are in the basement of the Stark Tower. I haven't really looked into those files, yet. Fury gave me a lot more stuff, but…" He looked away.

"You're not usually so hesitant."

"There's a lot going on," Tony admitted tiredly. "The lawsuits are annoying, and my shareholders have been less than enthused about my expensive new headquarters. Those things have been occupying my time, alongside my S.H.I.E.L.D. work, the investigation into the Tarleton fellow that we dismantled. That's just for starters. There are greater dangers out there, and all the people who can fight threats like A.I.M. are divided, so I have to keep track of all of them, and scout for new ones. Any one of them might be tricked into working against our common good, and that would be a bad, bad outcome for everyone involved."

Harry thought back to Loki's visit, and wondered how big  _his_ influence could become, whether or not he went along with the Tesseract theft or not. He had not really told anyone about that particular confrontation, since he was not sure what he would do about it, yet. If the cube was in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s possession, telling them about Loki's visit would be equivalent to making a choice, and the Asgardian would act based on that. He paused suddenly as he thought back to an odd comment that wouldn't leave him alone. "What did you mean with  _dismantling_ Tarleton?"

"You know about what happened back on the Helicarrier," Tony began. "Tarleton's escape after being effectively lobotomized, his abuse of the ship's metallic parts to somehow send signals, and then my paraplegic badass moment, I'm pretty sure I already mentioned all of that." He smiled thinly. "Some oddities have come to light about the guy, and we've been keeping our findings under wraps. Since you're pretty much the only one that I'm certain can't be replicated, I figured you could help me find  _others_  like him, though. Other infiltrators."

"Others?" Harry asked, and then it clicked. "Wait, you mean the whole not-quite-human thing?"

Tony nodded, slowly. "Tarleton wasn't a human, not really, but we have to assume that his brain was still intact inside his artificial skull, which allowed you to do your magical mumbo-jumbo and knock him out of the park. Unfortunately, this means trouble. He was human  _enough_  that he showed as such on most of our tests: the top layers of his body were perfect replications of tissue, and the body seems designed to give false readings on most everything else. CT, for example, showed a normal human result, despite this being quite impossible with what we found inside him. Presumably his body automatically mimics false signals whenever such a test is done, though I have no clue how he pulled that off, or the data is altered in the computer itself. Anything that's thorough enough to identify these replicants would tip them off immediately, and they would probably flip out and kill everyone in the area. Even if we took them out then, they would send replacements, so we would never have any certainty. We need to know who is one of  _them_ , and then keep them occupied with false information."

"You're trying to identify Doppelgangers," Harry said, frowning. "Well, close enough. What have you tried so far?"

"We can't try very much, without a brain to test on," Tony said, shrugging. "Tarleton's went bye-bye, which means we can't really do much more than try and weasel through the body's defences, and those are shutting down as time goes on. We need to capture one to study, an intact one, or figure out some other way of finding them that these things can't block out. We have no solution, yet."

Harry stared outside. "I think I know where this is going, and I'm starting not to like that direction very much."

"It's a hypothesis I came up with," Tony said slowly. "Hear me out, before you say no. You used your mind-reading skill on Tarleton, to figure out what we needed to know. I was thinking, since you were able to break in-"

"No," Harry snapped.

"Shut up. You know that your little trick worked, though it knocked him out for a pretty long time. What I need to know is, could you tone it down enough that you can figure out a single fact, quickly? You implied as much, and I need to know if that's an option, because we're running blind."

Harry shook his head. "No, no, no. You want me to use  _Legilimency?_ On a lot of people, too?"

Tony nodded shortly. "Let's not kid ourselves, Harry. You can  _read minds_ , and you're not squeezing that genie back in a bottle." He leaned over. "Look, I know this kind of thing is dirty business, but we don't have a lot of options, here. Our technology is not up to the task of getting through the false readings that these cyborgs generate, and we don't even know if they act as sleeper agents or not, which would make psychological evaluations or observations of behaviour completely unhelpful. If science can't come up with an answer in time, then we have to turn to something else. That leaves us with you."

Harry summarized. "Fury agrees with  _that_? You know what happened to Tarleton, right?"

"To say that baldy agreed is a strong word," Tony admitted. "Especially when he heard my full plan; I had to calm him down for an hour. He's probably terrified that you could go mind-control his people to do whatever you want, and he knows that he would be subject to this kind of test himself." He paused. "You can't actually mind-control people, right?"

Harry groaned. "You know, every time you ask something like that, the answer is probably going to be yes. Fury already learned that, I think, since he asked pretty much  _that_."

Tony was silent for a long moment, then nodded. "Could you do this mindreading thing, you think? No snooping into people's minds beyond finding out if they're one of these fakes or not? It would have to be stealthy; we can't afford to tip them off. I know you did not hold back on Tarleton, but is it possible to actually pussyfoot your way in?"

"I don't want to," Harry said. "Look, that's why I didn't learn it as far as I could in the first place. Legilimency can be a blunt instrument, and that's how I've usually experienced it when people tried to use it against me. It can be a scalpel, to the right people, but I don't want to be someone like that. It means you can sneak into anyone's head, at any time, and take what you need. It would be a power too easily abused. I don't think I'd be strong enough to deny the temptation. Soon I'd be using it left and right, invading thoughts as if they are mine to own. I'm intentionally not good at it, so it would hurt, even if I minimize it."

"But you could practice until you got it right," Tony observed shrewdly. "You just about admitted that."

"Probably," Harry admitted. "Look, Tony, there's a reason I avoid using it unless I really have to. There's a few people in my past that abused that power, that got too addicted to the ability to consider the horrifying aspects of it. One of them was my teacher; he was supposed to be teaching me how to protect myself, but it was more of a torture session than anything else. Traipsing into people's minds like that, it's fair to call it assault, and it doesn't make it any better if you do it without the other person noticing. It's probably even worse, since they can't defend themselves."

"And the others?"

"There also was Tom Riddle," Harry said softly. "He was, by all rights, probably the worst wizard in centuries. I think I mentioned him before. He used Legilimency like a weapon against me. He invaded my mind, planted images in there to lure me away. I fell for his traps, and it led to my godfather's death, the closest thing I had to a family besides my school friends. He- he possessed me, there. Tried to have my old teacher kill me, and I agreed with him at the time. The agony of that moment still stays with me…"

"I'm pretty sure you're not evil," Tony drawled. "And I sort of doubt that someone with this many moral qualms would be the type to just abuse an ability like that for bad reasons." He raised an eyebrow. "Your anecdotes are interesting, but they're not exactly relevant, are they?"

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I assume that these people were not terribly picky about how they used this skill, nor interested in using it to honourable ends?"

Harry though of Snape's morbid enjoyment of their Legilimency lessons, and Voldemort's cruel smile. Both were long dead, but the memories were fresh."…Probably not."

"Right, then. Seeing as you're nothing like them, let's proceed as if that's the case. You need someone with a resilient mind to run some tests on," Tony observed, and Harry stared at him. Was he actually serious…? "I wonder if I could ask-"

"No."

"Fine, I'm pretty sure that Legolas would have said no, anyway," Tony replied, before narrowing his eyes. "How about me, then?"

"I don't think we can miss you, Tony," Harry noted dryly. "If I knocked you out for a week, which could probably happen, it would cause a ton of problems for everyone, and I'm pretty sure you don't want me traipsing around without control, anyway." He shook his head. "Asking Bruce is unthinkable, and Fury is probably antsy enough about letting me near his troops to let Clint or Natasha be a test subject, even if they agreed. Sif could do, she's strong enough, but she's off to her mystical kingdom where I can't reach her."

"At least you're considering this," Tony said. "We  _need_  a solution, and even a bad one is better than none."

Harry nodded. "Then I'll just have to find some other way to pinpoint them with magic, and if that fails, and only then, we'll look for a way to practice Legilimency. Deal?"

"Deal."

* * *

"Anything?"

The balding scientist looked up with a frown as the General stepped into the laboratory. The man looked over the bubbling mixtures of chemicals and the large fermentation tanks with a frown. "Not yet, sir," he said nervously. "The cells are viable, and there's plenty around here, but I haven't seen any reaction as of yet. It could be a conscious process; without somehow linking these cells up to a brain, I doubt we'll get much of a result."

Ross scowled. "There must be something in these samples that makes it work, something that the mind might trigger. If you find it, we can incorporate it into a new mutagen. A new Banner formula, perfected." He gestured to the large tanks. "How many generations have you grown, so far?"

"Forty, sir."

"Hmmm. And the object we retrieved?" He walked over to the end of the lab, where blinded glass kept a good chunk of it invisible. "That creature, did you get it functional?"

"We don't even really understand what it is, beyond the basics..."

"It's alien, of course we don't," Ross barked. "Before his unfortunate demise, Mr. Tarleton made pretty clear what it was for, and I intend to use it as such. He called it an Adaptoid. An adapting cybernetic creature, with an artificial intelligence that rivals the smartest of humans. Able to incorporate foreign DNA into itself and reap the benefits." He turned. "That is why I need to know how this 'Magician' works. If we can reconstruct the method by which the Adaptoid incorporates foreign DNA, we can do the same with people. If we have the DNA that unlocks the supernatural, and we combine it with the Adaptoid's synergetic ability: Humanity's next step is within reach."

"You're not saying-"

"The creature will remain unpowered and unfed, until you figure out how it functions," Ross said slowly. "We don't know it's allegiances, and we are too uninformed about its systems at this time. That doesn't mean we cannot use it for our benefit. I already have samples of Banner's blood and the Magician's, both of which would be  _extremely_  useful in a controlled fashion. Hire any help you need to see this done."

"A lot of experts are... unavailable."

"I know," Ross said, frowning. "The kidnappings. It's being looked into. Still, do what you can."

"Of course, sir."

Ross grumbled, and nodded. He reached for his cellphone, holding the number 1 to quickdial. It took a few seconds before someone picked up.

" _Hello?_ "

"Betty," Ross breathed slowly. "I hate to tell you, but I'll be late tonight, again. Sorry that I'm calling so late, but I was busy, and I lost track of time again."

" _That's alright. I will survive."_ There was some stumbling. " _Don't hurry on my account."_

"You  _are_  alone at home, right?" Ross asked suddenly, narrowing his eyes.

" _You told me you wouldn't snoop, dad."_

Ross sighed, rubbing his brow. "You're right. I guess I should be glad, after that whole mess from a few years ago, that you would try and go out again. Well... don't make it too late, I'm probably returning around two in the morning."

" _I'm not a teenager. But I'm glad you care."_

Ross chuckled. "True, true. Have a good evening, and tell your friend that he'd better treat you right... Or he'll have an army General on his doorstep by morning."

" _I will."_

* * *

Peter flipped head over heels through the air, web firing at the top of his arc as he attached it to a steel crossbeam, and swung himself neatly between two pillars of the bridge, emerging on the other end. He was wearing his full suit, and a few people honked their horns or yelled out as he passed by overhead.

"You're pretty good at that," Harry yelled amusedly as the teen reached his apex again, coming almost alongside with Harry on his broom.

"It helps if you have a-" He vanished down again, making a triple flip in mid-air before he went back upwards in another wide parabolic jump. "- sixth sense for it!"

Harry smiled at the teen's antics as he angled his broom down, landing softly on one of the high towers that supported the massive suspension bridge across the river. The lights were dim in the city, so close to midnight, and Harry enjoyed the view for a moment. Peter came alongside, landing effortlessly besides him, keeping himself steady as he squatted there. "You sure know how to pick your spots, don't you?"

"Hmm?"

Peter shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bridge, staring down over the cars far below. "This is one of the first places I went after I first became, you know, Spider-Man." He gestured down. "You've probably heard about the big honking green lizard-man that tried to gas the city?"

"Vaguely." Harry threw back his hood and sniffed the evening air. "Something about a doctor and some toxin or another? Tony told me, but I'm terrible with remembering these things."

Peter nodded slowly. "That  _toxin_ was a sort of regenerative solution, or that's what it was meant to be. This was where the Lizard first appeared, tearing up the bridge. I didn't know what he was, who he was, and all I could really think about at the time was keeping him busy so people could get away. I saved a kid down there, as well as most of the people in cars that were thrown off the edge. The police had a tough time getting them all down after I literally strung those vehicles up, but the people were fine."

"Quite heroic," Harry observed. "I tend to leap into danger too, usually without thinking about it, though problems tend to find me more than the other way around. I guess you have that saving-people thing, too. Hermione, a friend of mine, thought I was almost too selfless at times, though I don't know how accurate that really is."

Peter turned to him. "Um, didn't you say you jumped on a live nuke, recently?"

"Point taken," Harry mumbled. "I'm curious, Spider-Man, Peter, why are you doing this? I mean, I know you have the power to do great stuff, but I know a few people that would rather people forgot they even existed, they would never go into the spotlights on purpose. You go out and attract a bunch of bad press, just so you can save people, and you're fine with that. You risk your own life to do it, too."

"Should I have a reason, beyond ' _I can do it_?'" Peter inquired. "What about you, then?"

Harry chuckled. "I guess we share the reason I can't keep my nose out of things, either. When I first went out into the world, I was intent on just spending some time relaxing, figuring out how to live my life without just being what everyone else wanted me to be." He sighed. "Turns out that the person I want to be, the kind of life I want to have, is the same anyway. I inevitably get drawn back in, and before you know it I'm saving lives. Helping people is worth all the trouble that comes with it, I guess, even if it's easy to forget sometimes."

"Sounds like you knew the answer before you asked."

Harry glanced over to the red-and-blue clad Peter and smiled. "You're probably right, but it's one thing to think it, it's another to say it out loud. It's nice to find a kindred spirit, of sorts. A fellow orphan, suddenly struck with incredible power, who feels obligated to the people who probably care little for his presence. I get that. You remind me of myself, ten years ago. I'd like to think I've been shedding a few of these years, lately. Tagging along with you for a few weeks would drum anyone into shape, I think."

"If my lifestyle helps you any, dig in. I think it's pretty sucky that I still can't get a decent salary alongside my web-slinging, though. I tried delivering pizza once, in costume, but people have a habit of chasing me, and it's bad for delivery times." He was silent for a while, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. "My Uncle Ben always told me that I shouldn't try to be someone I'm not, and I think that applies to everyone, really. He reprimanded me for taking the easy way out of things, or for doing nothing, when I could manage great things with a little effort."

Harry smiled. "Sounds like my old teacher, Dumbledore," Harry said. "He figured that it when the choice came before you, you should go with what was right, rather than what was easy. That advice hasn't really led me astray yet." He frowned. "It's one reason I'm even here."

Peter nodded. "We both had our big break; you have your magic stuff, I have spider-powers. I don't think it's what Uncle Ben had in mind, but I can live with it. Great power, and with it comes great responsibility."

"Too much, sometimes."

"But it's worth it," Peter said with certainty. "Down there, when the Lizard attacked, I saved dozens of lives. I was the one that ultimately stopped his plan from succeeding, and that was because I used what I had to do what I had to, to protect people. I think you're not that different. When you see things that go wrong, and you can stop them, you step in."

"Hmmm," Harry muttered. "Sometimes there's a little more difficult problem than just whether or not to step in, though." He paused. "Hypothetically speaking, if a friend were to ask you to do something reprehensible, awful, repugnant to your moral fibre, what would you do?" He spat down the bridge, grimacing. "How about when a lot of lives could be saved by your actions, and the only one who ends up filthy in the end is you?"

"Moral dilemma, huh?" Peter said softly. "Tough one. Depends on how you look at the world. Doing something morally wrong, to save lives? It could be excused in some cases, but you have to worry about your personal moral standard, and where you put the boundary. I remember it from Philosophy class: Would you kill an innocent, knowing that you save five other lives by the sacrifice?"

Harry flinched, hard, and almost dropped his wand as he turned away. Benjamin Parker's face flashed before him, and the cool gaze of Death.

Peter looked into the distance for a long time, and then turned to him. "I won't know how I'd react until I get to a crossroads like that, and I'd like to think I'd make the rational choice, even if that might be an awful one. More than likely I'd freeze up in indecision. Probably worse than either of the alternatives."

"Fair enough," Harry said shakily. "And what if a single person dies, without your intention, but through your actions, or inaction?" Harry whispered. "Even if a thousand other people are saved, could someone ever forgive you for it? Could you ever forgive yourself?"

Peter looked at him, and though Harry could not see his face, he was pretty sure the boy was staring. "Now this is just getting spooky," he murmured.

Harry rubbed his neck as he stood up, and suddenly he looked up at the sky. He heard a distant rumbling in the clouds and he knew what it foretold. "I will have to find my own answers, and you yours. Maybe we'll compare notes, one day, and see what we come up with." He stared down at his hands. "I haven't forgiven myself, you know. Maybe when I figure out my own position..."

"Same."

Just then, a bright light became visible, streaking across the night sky. Harry glanced up and squinted as he could just barely make out a vague shape.

"Wait, is that…?" Peter's voice rose a little, and Harry was glad to hear that some of the heaviness seemed to lift from his shoulders. He immediately felt guilty. He had been so close to telling Peter about his Uncle, but he could not manage it. He could have ended this mess, one way or another, whether it be with a heart-to-heart or a fight. Instead...

"Yeah," Harry affirmed as he stared up, setting aside his issues. "That's Tony."

The Iron Man suit came down towards the bridge like a ton of bricks, hurtling towards the top of the tower where Harry and Peter were; they quickly scooted aside as a mere twenty feet from them the suit suddenly blazed alive with full repulsor fire, and in a cloud of iron shavings that sprayed around, Tony landed next to them. "What a ride!"

"Do you always have to make an entrance?" Harry muttered.

Tony's helmet flipped open, and he smirked. "Of course I have to. Don't tell me you suddenly forgot all about my style?" He tapped his breastplate. "This is the newest model, too, updated from the last one, but not quite identical. See, I ditched the shoulder generators. Instead, I have these." He grabbed a small sphere from his waist, and tossed it in the air. "One repulsor grenade, strong enough to knock out a convoy with its EMP blast, and it fits in the palm of your hand. Also, I incorporated those parts you enchanted for me. It'll be fun to try 'em out, next time we get into a scrap."

Harry nodded, then glanced to his side. He was alone.

"Did I scare off your buddy?" Tony asked, looking around as well. "Oy, webhead, there's no need to be shy."

A red mask peeked up from the side of the tower; Peter had flipped himself over the edge and simply attached himself to the side as the suit came in for a hard landing. With a graceful movement he vaulted back up, sitting on the edge in a crouch. He stared. And kept staring.

"Oh brother, he's a fan, isn't he?" Tony sighed. "Yes, yes, I am the great Tony Stark, definitely not my bodyguard, and I go around in the suit I invented." He tapped the chestplate. "I figured that if Harry here's okay with you, you're probably not going to rat me out. You're pretty much in the same boat, anyway. Not that it will last much longer. If a certain lawsuit goes through, I'll probably have to unmask. Hmmm... Might do it anyway, I imagine they'd buy tickets for something like that."

"I think you managed to shut up the most talkative guy I've ever met," Harry said bemusedly as he took in Peter's silence. "Well, you two are probably pretty closely matched on that front. Two babbling geniuses who can't stop referencing stuff I don't know anything about. Joy."

"You're Tony Stark," Peter said at last.

"An astute observation," Tony agreed, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you said he was smart, Harry? Also, he sounds young. Am I getting that right? Because if you're underage, Spidey, I think we're getting into some major issues with a certain someone."

Harry smiled. "Age isn't everything, Tony. I told you that he was good, and I'm sticking with that. Ask him about his web-shooters."

"Web-shooters..." Tony paused. "Are you saying that's technology? Huh. Honestly, I thought it just, you know, shot out of his wrists or something." He frowned. "Although, that would be anatomically strange for a spider. In real ones, the web is actually excreted from the –"

"It's not a web, technically," Peter said quickly. "It's a biopolymer, strung into ultra-strong cables. I used some homemade engineering to make them into tools." He blinked. "Hey, you wouldn't mind taking a look at them, sometime, right, since you're an engineering whiz and all that? I've been having reloading issues lately, since my other source is drying up, and you won't believe how easily those things break when you're in a proper fight. A while ago I was in combat with some fellow in a scorpion-themed suit - don't ask - and he drenched one of my arms with some kind of acid. I had to scrap the whole shooter, cartridge included."

"I will take a look," Tony agreed, and tried to ignore the victory sign that Peter made. "So, you're the local hotshot. I've been reading bad stuff about you."

"J. Jonah Jameson has it in for me," Peter said. "What can you do?"

"Is it true that you hung upside down in front of the Daily Bugle's window and told him that he should stop telling bad stuff about you? Because I'm pretty sure you need to do exactly not that." He sighed. "You know, I am willing to go with Harry's word on this one. Why don't you swing by the new Stark Tower this week? Well, you could just come by normally, but that depends on whether or not you can deal with going around unmasked."

"I think enough people know as it is," Peter said.

"I admit, I know who you are too," Tony said, raising his hand. "I don't know exactly what Harry did to figure it out, but I can guess. I traced his steps and ended up with your aunt's address. It wasn't very hard from there. I locked a few things behind me so its not so easy for the next guy to get access to risky files like that."

"Does Fury know about this?"

Tony raised an eyebrow as he looked at Harry. "Do you really think that he would be so petty as to unmask someone against their will? He's a prick at times, but he's not that bad. Even if he knows, I think he has purposefully avoided raising the issue."

"Woah, woah," Peter exclaimed. "Who the hell...?"

"If we're going to be based in New York, we are in the right position to help him out," Harry said after a moment. "He's pretty much what you were, Tony, before the whole group thing came up. You  _know_  that sooner or later, he's going to get involved anyway. We shouldn't hold off just because of age."

"Can someone include me in this conversation? Hello?" Peter exclaimed.

Tony looked at Harry for a long time, then nodded. "Hey, kid. How would you like a job?"

"I - what?"

"The new Stark Tower's already in construction, and I could use some science graduates to fill out the ranks, particularly those that I can trust to keep the juicier secrets." He gestured to his helmet. "What's your current job, anyway?"

"Ah... I am sort of -" Peter scratched the back of his mask. "In between occupations?"

"Right," Tony drawled. "Well, Mr. vocationally challenged, how does an internship at Stark Industries sound? I can excuse the expenses pretty easily, especially if you're as good as Harry implies, and the tower's secure enough that you won't have to worry about the whole mask thing too much. Besides, I could use someone with brains."

Harry looked up, frowning. "Are you implying something with that, Tony?"

"Figure it out," Tony returned. "With Bruce off on his honeymoon, or whatever it is he's up to, things have been pretty silent around the tower."

"You want me to be full-time Spidey, huh?" Peter cocked his head to the side. "I don't know..."

"I'll let you tinker with my stuff, and price is not an issue," Tony volunteered.

"Where do I sign?"


	28. Interlude - Secret Origins?

Harry walked into the Minister's office with a confident stride, not even batting an eye at the assistant who tried to ward him away from the door, or the loud voices that came from within. He dusted off his Auror's robe, specially enchanted to ward off most common curses, and ran a hand through his ever-messy hair as he gathered his courage. Today was not like any other day.

The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, stood by the tall windows of his office, staring at a diminutive figure that was pointing angrily at him, a Goblin that was gesturing with his other hand to a long piece of parchment that lay across the Minister's desk. Harry surmised it was a list of demands and, as usual with Goblins, it trailed the ground due to its sheer length.

"These agreements are  _not acceptable!"_ The figure spat, showing dangerously pointy teeth as he gestured with a sharp nail at the list. "Gringotts demands concessions for the deaths incurred in this  _'expedition'_ , seeing as it was you  _wizards_  that caused the collapse in the first place!"

"With all due respect, Snagfang, it was a  _Gringotts_ expedition." The Minister looked up and gave a quick nod towards Harry. "You hired the wizards yourself, so there is no reason the Ministry should get involved at all." He paused. "Why were you trying to go  _there,_ anyway? Dozens of wizards have gotten lost there before. It's quite possible that it's enchanted to cause that, you know..."

"The  _Axis Mundi_ are said to be places of great splendour," Snagfang snarled. "Not death-traps!"

"Yes, yes, these so-called 'navels of the world', hmmm?" The Minister shook his head. "I have always managed quite well with only one navel. You already have a number of these places as Gringotts property, don't you? Why not respect the local people's claim to the land?"

"Respect," the goblin spat. "The last time you wizards  _respected_ us is not in living memory, so don't talk to me about respect." He looked up, glancing at Harry momentarily. "I will hear your response before nightfall, Minister. Consider the matter  _carefully_." He walked away with his head held high, though it was still only a short way from the ground. As he passed Harry, the goblin spat on his shoes and growled.

"Lovely," Harry muttered in exasperation as he cleaned up, looking after the Gringotts representative. "You'd think they'd get over the incident with the break-in, but I end up getting my shoes cleaned every time I meet a Goblin..."

Kingsley sighed as he turned to the new arrival. "Between the break-in, however well-intentioned, and the somewhat broken deal with the sword, what did you expect? Goblins have a long memory, and even longer grudges." He gestured to his desk. "Sit. I'm curious what was so urgent that it couldn't wait till Monday."

"I'd rather stand, if you don't mind," Harry said carefully as he shrugged off his outer robe, and then pulled out the badge that signified his occupation. "I'll make it simple. I wish to resign."

Kingsley stared at him. And continued to do so for a full minute longer, while Harry tried not to wither under the man's piercing gaze. Finally, the Minister sighed, looking away with haunted eyes. "So, even you have a breaking point." He shook his head. "Even the great Harry Potter, famed and fortunate?."

"Can we keep this from getting complicated?" Harry asked pleadingly. "Since you clearly already know why I want out." He dropped his robe and badge on the desk. "I don't want any fuss."

"I'd like to hear your reasons, beyond the obvious ones that even I noticed. I don't believe you would break easily." Kingsley sat back in his large chair. "Speak."

Harry hesitated. "Those reasons are personal."

"I wonder if you'd say the same after a few good bludgeoning spells to the shins," Kingsley commented grimly, then smiled warmly. "Well, after that unpleasantness a few years back, I suppose I can give you the benefit of the doubt, and hear you out. Spill, and we'll see what the Minister for Magic can do for you."

* * *

"This is  _nuts_. You can't just stay at home, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed as she stalked through the little apartment that Harry called home, ignoring the protesting paintings that seemed quite upset about her brusque demeanor. Harry sat behind his desk, a pair of books opened before him, though his weary eyes and lazy chair made it plenty clear that he had been taking a nap, rather than studying. He took in the new arrival as he yawned.

"Could you be any louder?" He complained as he rubbed the sides of his head. "I had a long evening, so I'd appreciate a little volume control." He rose to his feet as he sighed, then paused. "Wait, you're back?" He blinked.

" _Yes,_  thank you for noticing!" Hermione rolled her eyes. "I swear, I leave for a few months, and when I return nobody even noticed I was gone. Ron just turned around in bed and used me as a pillow before he even realized I was back. Oh, and he snores again. Just when I thought that last charm worked..." She shook her head. "Thats not important, really. I swear, if I hadn't heard about this from Ron of all people, I wouldn't have believed it at all.  _You,_ skipping out on Auror duty? What are you thinking?"

"Hermione-" Harry tried to interrupt.

"You don't even seem guilty about it, either!" Hermione said sharply. "Were you  _napping,_ just now?" She glanced at the books and frowned at the chapter titles; they were biographies of major wizarding criminals, alongside some kind of family tree. "And what's this you're reading?"

Harry frowned. "So, it was Ron. Figures, I'm sure he wouldn't keep things from his wife." He smiled slightly. "He couldn't even wait for details before he apparated away and dragged you into things, I guess. Well, being impulsive is nothing new." He walked over to his bookcase, running his hand down several spines as he avoided Hermione's gaze. "I didn't keep you out of the loop, Hermione. I'm not away without leave. I'm just suspended for a few days."

Hermione paused. "...Suspended?"

Harry shrugged uncaringly. "Yes. I was relieved of duty, since the Minister was under the impression that I was 'messed up'. I think he put it in those words, too. He was right. Kingley's not one to mince words, anyway." Harry paused. "Seeing as you were in Bulgaria, I'm not too surprised that you didn't hear about all of this. The Ministry's buzzing about it..."

"What did you do?" She frowned. "I heard some vague mumblings, on the mainland, but I thought it was just the usual nonsense."

"Oh, yes, it's the usual, alright," Harry said, glancing at her. "As for what happened... I quit. Or tried to."

"What?"

Harry shrugged as he removed a new book from his shelf, a scuffed copy of  _Magic and Time: Why You Should Avoid Yourself,_ before he turned to Hermione again. "I tried to resign, and I sort of got angry when Kingsley wouldn't let me. Well, you know how I can get when I'm mad. His hand was forced after that, since half the building heard, otherwise he probably would've let me off with a warning. Thus, suspension. I don't intend to file for renewal after the month is over."

"...What exactly happened while I was gone?" Hermione asked, disbelieving. "You can't quit! Not after all that effort to get into the Aurors in the first place, Harry! It took two years after Hogwarts just to make it that far, and now you just decided to get out, on a whim? That's... " Hermione shook her head, raising her wand. " _Finite Incantatem!_ "

"I'm not bewitched, Hermione, though I think that would have been better than the reality," Harry observed with a little amusement as he sat back in his chair, leafing through his book. "I'm not sure why you're surprised, either. I told you that things were getting too much. I figured you of all people would catch the hint."

Hermione shook her head. "I thought you were  _joking_! I'd sooner see you leave Britain than leave your job!" She paced back and forth through the room, glancing at Harry reproachfully. "How are we going to fix this mess, then?"

A smile flitted across Harry's face, but he forced it away. "I thought about leaving Britain, actually, and I might still do that. Britain's getting awfully constraining." He paused, deliberating over what to say. "There are... reasons that I don't really want to get into, for why I went to Shacklebolt like I did. Some of them are personal, and I'll leave those aside, but others are more general. You already know about the murders. The Muggleborns."

Hermione paled, and leaned forward in her chair, brushing her bushy brown hair behind her ears. "Harry, those are not your fault, and you know it!"

"No, they're not," Harry agreed. "But they're my responsibility, nonetheless, and not just as an Auror. After Ginny..." He clenched his fists tightly. "And then the attack on Luna... It became pretty clear that Riddle's death didn't somehow stop dark wizards in general, and that I am a favored target because of my reputation. I guess Dumbledore had the same thing." He sighed wearily. "I'm glad that you and Ron are mostly safe, but the same can't be said for all these other people, especially those who don't live in well-protected magical homes. I don't even know most of the Muggleborns that died, but I do know why they're dying. Me."

Hermione scowled. "Dark wizards will always find an excuse, Harry, and you're an Auror. Of course you're going to run into them. You shouldn't take it so personally. You're the most visible Auror around, is it any wonder that these dark wizards are trying to get you to react?"

"No, it's not," Harry acknowledged. "Trouble is, though, I'm not Dumbledore. I know he wasn't perfect, but he was a lot more capable than I am, and the public's more ambivalent about me, too. This has been going on for more than a year now, and we still can't find these murderers. The Ministry's keeping everyone on way too short a leash over it, and that means we won't be getting any closer, either. More than eighty are dead, Hermione. All Muggleborns, except for Ginny, because these  _bastards_ know how to get to me." He looked at Hermione with hard eyes, his hands still clenched tightly. "The few times these people communicate, they demand that I resign. I decided I would not, convinced that it made no difference, but lately it's become impossible to believe that. They're going after these people specifically to get at me."

"So you want to quit, just on the off-chance that it'll help? Leave, and let the murders go unopposed?" Hermione asked, shaking her head. "Harry – don't you see that's exactly what these people want? To have you out of the way, so they can pressure people like Voldemort did? You didn't think that he was the last of the dark wizards, right?"

"Don't call him that," Harry said shortly. "He's just Tom Riddle, now, and we shouldn't indulge his silly title. And, no, I was under no illusion that dark magic would end with his demise. What I had hoped for was a reprieve. Instead we have this, a murder spree that won't end. These deaths aren't coincidental ones that are shoved into my face – they're intentional, designed to affect me, to draw me out. At this point, I'm doing more damage by being an Auror than if I stop."

"Surely you –"

"We stopped twenty. Twenty. That's it. The majority of the victims aren't even reported missing before someone finds their remains, and we probably missed some that live in the Muggle world. Each one of them is marked with my initials. We saved Luna, but..." Harry put down his book. "If I resign, it won't stop dark wizards – but it might well stop this murder spree. I cannot afford to put the job I love above the people I'm supposed to protect. You understand that, don't you? Ginny did. And there's more than that, too. Yesterday forced my hand. I guess you haven't heard, yet."

"What do you mean?"

"You know I've been coasting on Riddle's defeat," Harry said after a while. "The Prophet's been happy to write decent things about me, for once, because I knocked out their big bad Dark Lord. They've largely avoided being blatantly offensive. But, that's changing again. Not even defeating a wizard of that calibre will let you off the hook forever, and yesterday the dam finally broke."

"...No They wouldn't  _dare._ "

Harry reached into his pocket and removed the latest paper with an expression of disgust, slapping it on the desk before him. "First page, of course. It figures."

"BOY-WHO-LIVED: SERIAL KILLER? STRING OF MURDERS LINKED TO FAMED AUROR AND KILLER OF DARK LORD. Details on Page 1-5, reprint: 'Harry Potter: Heir of Slytherin?'"

Hermione paled at the picture below it: It was photo of Harry, his face contorted into a vicious snarl, clasping his hand in his fist as he stood among the ruins of the Burrow, taken the day that Ginny had died. Below, much smaller, was a collection of small photographs of dead bodies – each of them with a burn-mark exposed on their skin, spelling out 'HP'.

"That  _bitch_ ," Hermione cursed, turning a faint shade of purple. "I swear, this time I'll pull out each of her squiggly little-"

"It wasn't Skeeter," Harry noted immediately. "She's still fifth-page only, and it'll take her years to crawl back up. It's everyone." He reached into his pocket and retrieved two more miniaturized papers that he quickly enlarged. "Foreign papers are already reporting this as facts – by morning it'll be reprinted in every major paper, and the foreign papers will come right back here, without the meager amount of qualifying statements that the Prophet thoughtfully included. Only the Quibbler's stayed out of it, as far as I know."

"How – " Hermione narrowed her eyes as she shuddered with rage, and she stood up without quite realizing it, her knuckles white. "After all that happened, they  _dare_ -"

"Yes," Harry said softly. "I knew this time would come, eventually. I've been dreading something like it for months, even before the attack on the Burrow, before Luna was captured. My colleagues among the Aurors know I'm innocent, and so does the Minister, but they don't have much credibility since the war, and the Wizengamot isn't too friendly without Dumbledore there to manage their massive egos. Kingsley can only protect me so much. The moment the media got to one of these murder-cases before the Aurors did, the backlash was inevitable."

"They can't do this, Harry! You have to do something!"

"I would, if there was something feasible to attempt," Harry said. "Problem is that people are predisposed to believing what they want to hear, and anything I say would be used against me. If I publicly deny being involved in all this, even with the Ministry behind me, a lot of people would take it as a sign that the Ministry itself is corrupt and complicit, just when they slowly get some semblance of respect back. A lot of folks haven't forgotten the days that I was declared evil, and since the prophecy became public, those have been getting louder again..." He sighed. "Sturgis apologized, but he caused quite a mess with that one. The media's finally jumped on that reference to being marked the 'Dark Lord's equal. Of course, in their mind, only another Dark Lord could fit that description."

"Quitting is  _fleeing_ the issue, not confronting it."

Harry shrugged. "You may think so, but I don't see it that way. I want to leave. I'm done, Hermione. These people are after me, and they're willing to go through everyone to get to me, and it's been that way practically since the first year of Hogwarts. Yes, they're misinformed and reactionary, but that doesn't mean the problem lies only with them. These latest murders are a symptom of a larger trend: People haven't bounced back from the war yet, and I'm all too visible a reminder. I need to disappear, convincingly. I figured I could fake my death, but..."

"Harry!"

"What do you want me to say?" Harry asked sharply. "The killings won't stop on their own. Even if they're not all connected, the public will assume they're my doing, after this smear. When these killers are caught, someone else will pick up again, and few will search for the real culprits, since a scapegoat is on hand. I have to go away – for a long time, if not permanently. I don't know where, yet, but it's the best choice I have. The Aurors can deal with one less recruit, and I have done my share of slaying Dark Lords already."

Hermione sat back with a shiver. "You'd let them  _win,_ Harry _."_

"Well, I hardly said I'm leaving right this minute, did I?" Harry smiled thinly. "Aurors have to follow the rules, they have regulations and so forth on what to do with dark wizards. What do you think would happen if an Auror were to strike out on his own? How about one that's got quite a bit of pull in the government, at least until the media rips into that as well?" He rose. "Don't worry: I won't stop until this is ended. One way or another."

* * *

"Are you certain of this, Harry?"

"Kingsley, we went over this." Harry looked down at his paper with a frown; it was dripping at the edges from the steady rain, though an impervious charm prevented it from turning into an unreadable mess. "I knew about the hatchet job before I came to your office, you know. That's why I accelerated my plans, why I need your help. I would have preferred to take care of this without anyone knowing." He tapped the top line. "Now's the ideal time to strike.  _He_ might be there."

Kingsley narrowed his eyes from under his hood which hid his face from view. "This is illegal, just so you know. I am the Minister. I should arrest you right here, right now. I doubt revenge is the right motivator, too." He frowned. "How on earth did you get access to the files of the Unspeakables, anyway? Not even I can get much from them."

"I think it has something to do with killing the person who murdered their families," Harry mumbled under his breath. "Look, nobody knows about this, and they won't. Not Hermione, Ron, not anyone. I even lied to Hermione, to her face, so you know I'm committed. If you meet her, act like we had a falling out, that would fit."

"She's very intelligent," Kingsley pointed out. "She will figure out what you did."

"Not until after it's done. What she does then, well, I suppose we'll find out." He gestured. "As long as you do your part, I will make sure that these bastards are taken out, permanently, without any fuss on the part of the Wizengamot or the Ministry in general. Quick, and about as clean as you get."

"Potter-"

"I know, I know, the Ministry doesn't condone assassination, I can't be an official Auror after this, the whole nine yards." He looked up with dark eyes. "I don't appreciate the necessity of this either, but you know that these things happen. I had to take out Riddle, and I did." He tapped his invisibility cloak. "I won't be seen."

"You still intend to disappear, then?"

Harry nodded wearily, as he reached into his pocket, retrieving a long wand, shimmering slightly in the pale light. "I have all three, now. I'm leaving as soon as I've found out how, and I'm taking these things with me. Don't worry; I won't jeopardize the Ministry, or anything else I found out through the Unspeakables. I have Hermione helping me to prepare; she'll have to obliviate me to get rid of the important stuff."

Kingsley sighed to himself. "Well, if you're sure..."

"Hold off the Aurors for at least a few minutes. At least four or five, since I intend to be quick about it. If you have the team in question in your office at the time, they'll have to get to an apparition point, which should be far enough. I'll put up an apparition barrier around the building, and no, I'm not telling you where it is, before heading in. If all goes well, I will be gone by the time my- the Aurors arrive."

"Just get it done. It will be tough enough to explain this to the Wizengamot as it is without you getting caught." Kingsley nodded kindly. "Godspeed, Harry."

* * *

His steady gait did not betray his slightly paranoid fear as Harry made his way down Knockturn Alley, his distinctive looks covered up with a magical disguise that resembled Neville more than anyone else, though the latter would probably not go down this route, ever. Harry knew that right that moment there was an illusionary version of himself, sitting behind his desk back at home, just in case someone took a peek inside. Hopefully nobody would look too deeply into that, and he would be safe.

Three people had died since his resignation, or what was officially a suspension; three deaths, all of them in London, uninterrupted by his disappearance from the public eye. Whether or not this had ever been about him, personally, it was now something more. There was one name in the Unspeakables' files that was far too familiar, and it had been the deciding factor. Someone he had been looking for, but who always slipped away, might be there. Selwyn. Ginny's murderer.

Harry had picked up the Resurrection Stone again, well aware that he was tempted to use it much like its original owner must have been. He knew it was a bad idea, but he had no other. Harry conjured before him the spirits of the last victims, those who had seen their killers' faces. It had not taken long to find one who still held resentment for their sudden death, and she had told him all of it. The killers were Death Eaters, now leaderless, continuing their master's work in his absence. Escapees from the law, the last of the scum that had not yet been wiped away. One spirit, that of a young girl, remembered that her killers talked of a safe-house, a place to lay low, down here in Knockturn Alley. They had been too confident that the dead could not speak.

A seething hatred bubbled not far below the surface, an ever-increasing inferno that grew with every obituary, with every corpse that was dropped off at the Ministry, with every victim. That kept him going, and he could probably use it to pull off a really effective Cruciatus Curse _._ At the same time, he kept remembering what happened with Voldemort, and how feeble and weak the man had seemed only moments after the light vanished from his eyes. Voldemort fought him, but it was Tom Riddle, mutilated and tortured, that hit the ground with finality.

The end of the alley quickly approached, and Harry raised his wand, and it glowed ever so slightly red as he suddenly turned to one of the little shops. He adjusted his invisibility cloak, raising the Elder Wand before him. It was now or never; he had made his preparations, placed his protective spells, and the time was here. Focusing on his anger, he flung his first spell.

The explosion that followed was huge and intense, billowing to both sides of Harry, who kept a magical shield up through the brunt of it; that one attack had just destroyed more than half a dozen protective wards set around the premises, and he quickly added his own. Apparition would be impossible, now, for anyone short of Dumbledore. Harry weathered the shower of debris as the glass sprayed outward, covering over half a dozen onlookers that quickly made themselves scarce. The heavy iron door slammed down onto the street with a loud clang, and a crackle of electricity seemed to arc through the sky for a moment. Someone screamed in the distance.

Four minutes to go.

Harry walked in with a quick gait, tapping the wrecked storefront as he passed, and a flash of red spread itself across the walls and the door. Without stopping to consider his trap, he vanished the next door, striding into the back without a second thought.

"I know you're in here, Mulciber," he said. "Yarrow, you too."

It was silent and nothing moved, but Harry knew that there was only one exit, and he had just put a trap, there, that would hold them for at least enough time to knock them out. The store was heavily protected, as befitting a safe-house, but not well enough to stop him. He had spent two painstaking days mapping everything out, making escape impossible. He walked inside and quickly conjured a replacement door, a tricky bit of magic, putting a nasty shocking charm on it.

"I know you're here, so there's no need to be shy," Harry called. "You can't apparate, and you'll find that the floo is also being quite temperamental today. If you want to stay in one piece, I wouldn't try it."

"Fuck you!"

Mulciber's voice, Harry observed, was coming from somewhere above. He conjured a shield around himself before he moved on. "Come now, don't be crass. You wanted me here, I got the message with all those people you've killed. Do your worst," he said loudly as he blasted another door aside and entered into a large room that looked quite like a warehouse, with huge piles of some kind of merchandise piled in the corners in colourful little boxes. "I really should have taken care of you after your master died."

The Killing Curse came from almost straight above, and Harry set a step forward and twirled around just as it blasted the floor where he stood only moments before, though the damage was far inferior to what Riddle had been capable of. There was sawdust on the floor; it figured that he would be traced by his footsteps while invisible. Sloppy. He glanced up, catching only a glimpse of a wide-eyed face, but it was enough to make a connection. His Legilimency, crude as it was, ripped into the man's mind, and Mulciber cried in pain as he jerked back, and the connection broke.

"So, there's three of you, huh?" Harry murmured, his eyes narrowing. Selwyn. He was here, somewhere. He shook his head and then stilled entirely, quieting even his breath, listening. For a few heartbeats, there was nothing. Then, he spoke again. "You really should take care not to look a Legilimens in the eyes. He might see things you don't want him to." He smiled darkly. Really, he sucked at that particular skill, but his version was quite brutal, which was a fantastic distraction in a fight. He hated using that trick, but this was no time for doubting himself.

"He's a bloody mind-reader!" Yarrow's voice cried out from somewhere to his side.

" _Sectumsempra!"_ Harry barked sharply. Sizzling slashes of violent magic tore themselves through a wall with enough force to topple most of it, and then kept on going. The Death Eater didn't see it coming at all, so certain in his safety behind thick walls, and he was a little too late to dodge the sudden assault.

Almost six years out of Hogwarts, Harry's spells were a lot more accurate and powerful than they used to be, especially after Auror training. Snape's spell, used mostly to cause superficial cuts when it was first invented, and which Harry had used to rather greater effect against Malfoy, slammed into the unprepared Death Eater and blasted him clean across the hall. Then it kept on going. A hand, detached, dropped to the floor first, then half a leg. Very slowly, Yarrow's head followed. The body slumped down, still twitching, as silence took over.

Harry's hand trembled as he stared at his victim, and he grit his teeth. For a moment, he wondered if he was not supposed to feel something, now; didn't killing split the soul, or do some kind of damage? He had only killed Voldemort before this, and that hardly counted. Blood pooled and suddenly his eyes widened as he remembered his time constraints.

Two minutes to go. No time to contemplate morals.

Without thinking twice, Harry apparated a floor up. There were spells that prevented apparition in and out of the building, but like the Great Hall at Hogwarts demonstrated, that did not mean you were prevented from moving within it. He had memorized the position of every hall and object in the store before he even entered, and he took full advantage of that.

He appeared a few feet behind Mulciber, who was staring over the edge, to the lower floor he had just left, probably taking in the huge hole in the wall coupled with a slowly expanding sea of blood.

" _Expelliarmus."_ Harry intoned, and Mulciber whipped around at the last moment, his wand flying to Harry's hand. The latter put it in his pocket without a second thought.

"You- you  _killed_ him," the Death Eater exclaimed. "Aurors aren't supposed to -"

"I'm not an Auror. And what did I tell you about meeting my eyes?" Harry caught Mulciber's gaze just as he paled and tried to look away. Too late. He crashed into the criminal's mind with all the subtlety of a rampaging elephant in a porcelain factory. Three people were present. Three Death Eaters, and all of them were complicit. Mulciber started to drool as he sagged against the railing, eyes suddenly dulling and losing whatever focus they had. Harry released him, and he slumped. "So thats what Selwyn's been doing, eh?  _Obliviate._ "

Mulciber didn't answer: He just stared blankly ahead, his breaths coming slowly and heavily. Harry twitched as he realized that he had probably gone too far. The man's mind had collapsed in on itself, and it could take months to repair itself. At least he would not remember how it happened.

He could feel sorry for himself later. He only had one minute left, and he had seen no sign of Selwyn, yet. He could not help but think back to Ginny's lifeless body, to the destruction of the Burrow. He seethed inside as he went to leave.

" _Crucio!"_

Pain blossomed in his skull as Harry crashed to the floor with sudden agony, and his limbs spasmed in protest. Even through the pain, he kept his wand clasped tightly in his fist, that was all he could do for a long moment as the Cruciatus Curse inflamed every nerve and nearly shocked his brain into shutting down entirely. He concentrated on holding on, knowing that fighting the pain would have no effect, and prepared to react. He felt his disguise falter, vanish.

The moment that happened, probably due to Selwyns shock, the spell stopped. Harry was upright in an instant. The pain was as omnipresent as it was while the spell was active, and his muscles objected viciously to the abuse, but Harry whirled around forcefully, a spell flying before he could voice the incantation fully.

Selwyn flew backwards off his feet, landing in a groaning heap down the length of the hall, his wand clattering to the floor in two pieces. Blood seeped down from a wound near his hairline as he tried to get back up despite the intense vertigo that Harry's spell had caused, and he wavered.

"Selwyn, you SON OF A BITCH." Harry winced as he moved forward on clumsy feet, and he heard something exploding in the distance; it was his trap at the front door. One of his colleagues had triggered it, and it would take a few seconds before they found a way to break free from his sticky surprise, when a huge chunk of the air suddenly turned into jello, trapping them inside until they could wrestle free. Time was running out. "I would figure out a way to pay you back for what you did to Ginny," he snarled, narrowing his eyes. "I would love to pay you back for every damn person you hurt, but I don't have the time for that." He sniffed. "Perhaps it's better like this. You don't deserve that kind of attention."

Selwyn coughed, confused. "What the hell? That was... You're using dark magic now,  _Potter_? And Legilimency?" He looked baffled. "You-"

Harry ignored the man's babblings, and worried about the fact that someone would figure out that he was behind this, regardless of how he ended this. He had been too sloppy. He had stormed in here illegally, had already killed one person without even a semblance of a trial, and he was pretty sure Mulciber was ready for admittance in St. Mungo's. Though he could barely stomach the idea, there were enough corrupt people in the Ministry to ensure that someone like Selwyn would end up on the street again, just as Mulciber and Yarrow had before him, after ratting him out the moment they could.

He could not allow that. Never. Other times, his reason might have overtaken his anger, bridled his unspent rage, but not now. Not when he was three inches from Ginny's killer.. "You went way too far, this time. I'm clean out of mercy. Goodbye."

The door downstairs was broken down right then, and someone yelled that everyone should turn themselves in; it would take them only moments to find Yarrow. Harry did not even twitch at the sound, slowly raising his wand instead. Selwyn's eyes widened in panic.

" _Avada Kedavra."_

That expression was frozen on his face.

Harry's anti-apparition spells dropped as he stared down at the corpse with dull eyes for a last time, and he felt some satisfaction, at last. With a twist, he vanished.

* * *

"Harry, you're not a  _coward_." Hermione said as he she followed Harry into his backroom, where piles of dusty old books and all manner of contraptions were set up. "Fleeing is one thing, and you know that I don't wish you ill, but what you're contemplating here is absolutely crazy."

Harry looked up with tired eyes, weary of this conversation. "It's not cowardice to admit that you lost your way, Hermione. At least, I don't think so. It's not cowardice to find your own way out either, and I'm going to do that." He turned. "You know what I did, right? Exile is among the least of the punishments I deserve."

"Harry -" Hermione scowled. "We're not discussing that again. Not now. You asked for my help with this, and I reluctantly agreed, but how can I justify it? You're looking for a way to commit suicide, how can you expect me to respect something like that?"

"It's not  _suicide_ ," Harry hissed. "I don't want to die, Hermione. I'm not that far gone. Going to these lengths would be certain death for someone who is unprepared, yes, but I'm preparing. It's possible, you know the stories as well as I do, and I would have expected you to be excited for fantastic magic like this. These  _Axis Mundi..._ even Muggles know about the concept, though they consider it more metaphorical." He frowned. "Dumbledore once told me that I should choose between what's right and what's easy, and I will stick to that, even though I strayed from that path before. I don't know if this is the right choice in the end, but I sure do know it's not an easy one."

"This shouldn't be your first choice!"

Harry turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "This isn't the true last resort, Hermione. Suicide would be that, as you say. You know I can't go anywhere on the planet that people would not find me, and quickly. I'm looking for a possibility, to find some way to be happy in life. I will pursue this road of dreams before I contemplate even more drastic measures." He cocked his head to the side. "How bad is it now, out there? Have they decided on a suitable punishment yet?"

Hermione shivered. "...It is pretty bad. But you know that Ron and I will support you, Harry. No matter what. Luna too, and Neville, and most of the rest of our old class."

Harry nodded. "Help me find what I need, and let me do what I have to, and I'll let you all get on with a more normal life. I know it'll be painful, but it is better than the alternatives." He tapped his book and smiled. "If there is a way back, perhaps I will find you again, after the world has calmed down a lot. Perhaps I will have come to peace with things, in whatever higher or lower plane I end up. That's what it's supposed to be like, right? A vacation, if you will." He sighed. "I know I acted rashly, back then."

"You killed people, Harry."

"Yes," Harry said. "They were murderers and Death Eaters, and I won't apologize for it, and that probably won't change much either. I went in with full intentions to kill Selwyn that day, if I had the chance. I'm still surprised I could go through with it." He looked away. "I'm baffled every day that you didn't turn me in after I told you, so I guess you understand that, at least a little." He shook his head slowly. "You know why I went outside the law like that, and you know why I want to go. Someone like me doesn't really belong here. I need to find somewhere fresh, somewhere without the taint of my past. Call it selfishness, if you want, but I think I deserve a little slack."

"How did we ever get here?" Hermione asked softly. "After Hogwarts, after the war. Me with Ron, you with Ginny, we were happy couples, looking forward to a bunch of children..." She sniffed, and noticed Harry's stricken look only then. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"I summoned her," Harry whispered.

Hermione blanched. "Summoned? W-with the Resurrection Stone?"

Harry slowly nodded. "I know I promised not to pick it up again... but I couldn't stop myself, not after I retrieved it from the forest. She... even if things could never be the same, I wanted her to know about what I was going to do, when it all crystallized in the wake of the attack. I asked for her permission to pursue this." He cringed. "With her blessing, I quit active duty, so I could walk this road. I even told her about how far I would go, to end it. I told her about Selwyn, too."

Hermione grimaced suddenly. "You're not going away, just to find another one of  _her,_ are you?"

"No." Harry glared at Hermione. "What we had was special, Hermione, and I'm not going to try and find myself a nice little clone to pick it back up. It would be unfair to her, and incredibly creepy. She told me to find something to be happy with – or someone, if it came to that." He frowned. "I'm disappointed that you'd think that of me, you know. I am an unsociable shut-in these days, not a monster."

"This could be a big mistake. The  _Axis Mundi,_ the  _Yggdrasil,_ the whole thing. How do you know this kind of magic will work? It might well just burn you up without a trace, and nobody would ever know!" Hermione sighed. "How do you even know that it'll be where you think it is? The World Tree has been lost for centuries."

"Well, lost things are made to be found." Harry smiled. "There have been six expeditions to the region, and most came back in various states of... disrepair. Whatever is there, it's dangerous enough to hurt people, but so valuable that the Goblins would just keep trying. Safe to say that few things match that description."

"...And the danger doesn't bother you?"

"Gringotts hires street thugs and other riffraff for expeditions like this, precisely because of the danger. I'm trained as an Auror, and I have some experiences with dark magic, if thats what the issue is, here. Actually, if my research is correct, my very intention there should clear up the road considerably."

Hermione sighed. "Ron and the others want to wish you good luck. I don't think any of them will want to follow you on this expedition. It's not our journey, either."

"I figured as much. I will come." Harry nodded to himself. "I don't know if I can send a message back, to tell you all that I made it, but I'll attempt to do that." He paused. "I was going to ask you a favour... but I think I'll have to handle it myself, like the rest. I suppose it's only fitting."

"It's a mistake."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Harry raised an eyebrow. "It's my mistake to make, and I'll own up to the consequences. If I gave myself up, I would be used as a political example. Even if I deserve a lifetime in Azkaban for murder, I refuse to be made an example of. I can find some other place to gather myself, to figure out a way to be a normal person again, and perhaps to help people. I think I could make up for it. Come now, you already know I'm hard-headed when it comes to things like this. You might as well give in." He stood up, stretching his back with a sigh. "If it is... nobody can say I didn't dare to go through with all my convictions."

* * *

"I'm surprised you decided to come," Harry said to Snagfang. "After that last expedition went south, I was pretty sure that you were going to give up." He snorted. "I still remember that first time I saw you, bickering with the Minister. I swear, he was just about ready to turn purple with indignation."

The old Goblin murmured something nasty, and Harry left him alone as he walked into the wild land. He was in northern Europe, though he wasn't quite clear on the country, and it was entirely too tropical for the latitude, considering most of the surrounding countryside was iced over. This was definitely the place he was looking for, and he could practically feel the ground pulling him onward, on to the centre.

Harry rolled a little stone around in his hand. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Harry."

He turned to the shade of the old man, standing beside him with a congenial smile, once again wearing his old robes and tipping his little pointy hat, his long beard neatly tucked behind his belt. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily over his half-moon glasses. Harry rolled the Resurrection Stone around in his hand once more as he looked at it for a moment. "I'm taking the Hallows along. Whatever happens, they're not coming back here. I suppose that fulfills what they say about these things: They will leave the world with their master."

"Well, you are entitled to take them," Dumbledore said, smiling slightly. "You united them, almost by accident, whereas Gellert and I spent far too much time chasing after such things. I suppose that means you were destined to be the Master of Death. An encouraging thought, I think."

"I sort of broke my promise, though," Harry said. "I said I would leave this behind in the forest." He gestured at the Stone. "I told your painting as much. I suppose I can see now why Cadmus fell to it, when it's so very tempting."

"Baubles have ensnared many unfortunate souls in the past, and not all of them were magical either," Dumbledore said. "Even I, who has studied the Hallows more than I ought, can only guess at their origins, or their true meaning, and hypothesize into the unknown." The old man gestured to the wild growth ahead of them. "Here, too, lies a mystery I never solved. The _Axis Mundi,_  the Navels of the World, are sometimes thought to be the wellsprings of magic itself. In stories they are mountains, like ancient Olympus, or trees, like the great Yggdrasil of the ancient Norse wizards, the one you are looking for now. Sometimes an Axis is a symbol, more than anything else."

"Or a gateway between Heaven and Earth," Harry said, smiling slightly. "A door between worlds, if you will. When I first heard about the concept, I thought of the Leaky Cauldron, or Platform 9 ¾, the places at the border of the Wizarding World. Perhaps that's why we met there, that time I was struck for the second time by the Killing Curse. It is my very own centre of the world, a gate between different places."

Dumbledore nodded, smiling. "You mean to take a train, this time?"

"Well, yes, but not  _onwards._ Not yet. It's a train station, there's bound to be more directions than one, right? I'll see if I can hitch another ride."

"I will keep a cabin free for you, should the day come that you need it to get back to us." Dumbledore winked.

Harry smiled warmly, and frowned. "It's odd: In life you were so careful about things, but now you're the only one that's not trying to discourage me from all of this."

Dumbledore shrugged lightly. "I would not stand between a man and his choices, Harry. Particularly not those of someone like yourself. Whether I approve of this particular direction is meaningless and intangible compared to whether or not it will help you find what you seek. I know you are the better man, Harry, and therefore I trust you to take the right way."

"Will the others forgive me?"

"In time. Already, some of them are coming around, and I suspect that Miss Granger regrets not travelling all the way with you, after sticking by your side, much like Ronald. If you return here, on some future day, they will certainly welcome you back. They are far too loyal to let such a thing as time mar your long friendship."

Harry nodded. "I am leaving more behind than just them." Harry gestured to the Elder Wand. "It would be suicide for any normal wizard, but I have this. I can remove the knowledge which I cannot afford to spread, no matter where I end up."

Dumbledore looked vaguely worried at seeing Harry twirl the wand around. "Altering your own memory is highly dangerous, Harry."

"So is going across worlds, especially with the knowledge of how to get back here, right there for the taking by any decent Legilimens," Harry muttered. "I will let myself remember how to get back, just in case, but only the mere basics. I will make sure I forget everything else. All the details, all the years of research, and all my notes stay behind." He shrugged. "I can't afford to be a threat to my own home, not if I want to live without those worries."

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "I cannot stop you, but such things are imprecise even in an expert's hands."

"Understood. I will do it just before I leave. I don't know what I'll be facing in there, and it's dangerous enough with only the bare minimum of knowledge." He stepped off the rock and gazed down at the Resurrection Stone again. "I will try to contact you on the other side, if I reach it. I'm sure I will remember that much."

"I would appreciate the peace of mind, so to speak," Dumbledore agreed. "Bon Voyage, and I hope you will enjoy your own, ah, next great adventure."

Harry nodded, and slowly slipped the Stone back in his pocket, and the shade vanished into thin air. He considered calling back others, like Sirius or his parents, but decided against it. He had spoken to them enough over the years, and he barely knew what he would say to them now, anyway.

He walked through the verdant forest in the centre of the frigid north, and the branches seemed to part before him. He heard Snagfang somewhere behind him; he probably noticed Harry's sudden departure, and followed. Harry ignored him, letting the ambience of the place sweep him up, enjoying the remarkable fragrances of impossibly vivid blooming flowers.

The tree had been broken long ago; there was only a stump left of the connection, after more than a millenium of neglect. Perhaps it had been severed to end this place, to try and disenchant it, but it had not worked. The tree, like the plants around it, was a symptom of something else, something special. This place, legendary among wizards and Muggles alike, was Yggdrasil, the World Tree. It had grown upon a wellspring of pure power, and magic was abundant in the air. Plants flourished and died before his very eyes, before being replaced mere moments later by vivid tropical wonders. Birds flitted by without flapping their wings, gliding without ever coming down to earth. A snake lazily weaved its way through the sky, and it had seemingly forgotten that it did not have any wings.

"It's a glorified orchard," Snagfang barked as he looked around with narrowed eyes. "Where are the riches?"

"You could probably make good wands with this wood," Harry commented as he picked up a little piece of the tree's wood, and it crumbled in his hands. "...Or not. I guess it won't live outside here."

Snagfang moved away to find his precious gold and gemstones, and Harry smiled as he walked to the centre of the wide trunk, which was easily wider than any tree he had even heard of. He could practically sense this place reacting to his arrival, to his desire to leave, and it seemed to shiver under his feet with building anticipation. Harry was pretty sure that his trip was already inevitable, now.

"Here goes..."Harry adjusted his bag; he had stuffed it full of a few spare wands, just in case his main two broke, alongside the invisibility cloak, the Resurrection Stone, a pair of broomsticks, and a vast collection of knick knacks he had built up over the years. A few stray gifts were stuffed to the side, and he had not opened all of them yet. He would save them, since he would not be getting any new ones any time soon. He was ready to leave.

Raising his wand to his temple, he concentrated on the knowledge he had to ditch, the dangerous information on how to get back here, on what preparations one had to make to even travel through an Axis. All that would remain was enough knowledge to make the trip back, once. He focused, and cast. " _Obliviate."_

Complex research, years worth of study, vanished into a pale nothingness, and Harry shivered at the intense unease. His own mind rearranged itself while he was using it; he consciously knew what knowledge had vanished, but even that would soon follow.

Then more flashed by, and he frowned in consternation. Dead bodies, dozens of them, a string of violent murders. Him and Shacklebolt, in the rain. Him, knocking down a door, and slicing someone up viciously.

Those were  _not_  memories he wanted gone!

Harry ripped away his wand, but the spell had already been cast. Memories evaporated, and he wasn't sure what he lost at all, just that it was bad. Then, even that realization vanished, and for a long moment, all was void.

Harry twitched as his mind adjusted itself and coped with the large changes as best it could. It took a moment before his consciousness stitched itself back together, before the subjective narrative continued as if it had never sputtered, or halted. "Well, at least that's done," he said quite suddenly. He stuffed his wand in his pocket, and smiled lazily as he considered where he was. "What was I doing again? Oh, right... the travelling thing." He shook his head. "I figured I would be a bit confused, I think. I'll figure it out, later. Well, on to vacation!" He raised his wand joyfully into the sky.

The clearing erupted with light.


	29. Omake - With a Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This non- canonical interlude contains copious amounts of cursing - of course. Ye be warned.
> 
> Consider this an 'omake' chapter - it takes place in between part 1 and 2, which means it's technically before the previous chapter. Also, the canonicity of some things here is - questionable. Consider the source, people.

 

I open my eyes, and it's dark as the night. Great, I'm blind again.

I've woken up like this before, of course. Becoming anatomically challenged is a bit of an occupational hazard for me, since I get shot, stabbed, or crushed regularly. Usually, nobody's around to piece me back together (or they don't care enough to try), so whenever my brain get squashed to jelly it's always a big ol' mess.

When I call the dry-cleaner afterwards, he charges me like it's highway robbery. He knows that he's the only one around who will actually handle my rancid crap. Ah well. If only Weasel were still around to fix my stuff; I really should have thought twice about threatening to shoot him in the face for daring to mess with my Bea Arthur picture collection. And then actually going through with my threat. Ah, burnt bridges and all that.

 _Didn't we dream_ __that? I'm pretty sure Weasel's alive...  
  
Eh, probably. Maybe. We should check continuity later, because I think I actually funneled his cash to our offshore account already. Perhaps that lifetime supply of Chimichangas we got in the deal was also a ruse. Man, I'm not gonna be happy if that's the case! Maybe I should shoot him anyway, just to be sure? Also, little yellow voice, why are you so - washed out? That doesn't look healthy...

"I know you're awake. I can hear you mumbling," says a very annoying, very British voice, interrupting my internal monologue.

_Of course you can hear us, ignorant simp! It's called narration, get with the fucking program._

Dialogue, whatever. I am instantly pissy at the owner of that whiny voice - not just because he interrupted my wildly untopical stream of consciousness, but because he's  _British._ Last time I ran into one of those limey bastards I was still wearing that fugly-ass X-Force suit, and taking orders from raging assholes who should have thought twice about involving me at all.

"...Al? 'S that you?" I mutter to myself as I turn towards my captor, feeling rather tipsy, though I know I can't be - I haven't had a proper buzz since I became a human guinea pig. Speaking of which, I'm tied up like I was back then, and the annoying British voice, if entirely different from that of anyone who actually tested on me, brings back bad memories.

The sound of it is definitely worse than Wolvie's Canadian drawl, and edging pretty close on the annoyance-factor of  _another_ Canadian I know quite well. I can't quite recall who, right now. Just that I'm used to hearing an awful lot of him.

_Hey, me!_ _We're not dripping all over the floor this time! I think we're okay!_

Oh, right. Me. That's who I meant. Fucking schizophrenia.

Chatty-ass voices in my head aside, I seem to be in pretty decent shape, which is  _very_ unusual. My nerves have been shot since around the freaking Nixon administration, but I can still tell when someone's been hacking at my parts - and as far as I can tell, I'm  _whole_. I've even got a damn mask on my scabby face, and I'm fairly sure I feel the contours of a loaded .45 pressing against my left ass-cheek. My captor's apparently a gentleman, and didn't feel around everywhere.

 _Or he wants to get into our pants._ _  
_  
Well, that is a pointless observation, little yellow voice of mine. _Everyone_  wants to get in our pants.

_Hah! Keep dreaming! Are you crazy, or am_ I _?_

I took a long moment to analyze that thought, considering the notion that truly crazy people would probably not realize they were nutty to begin with, but I countered it with the observation that I had long known I was insane - I just didn't give a shit. My musings were cut off by the Brit.

"I'm talking to you, stop zoning out.  _Ennervate!_ " A surge of energy charges through me, and it leaves me all tingly - for a moment I consider the possibility that I ended up in a really  _different_ kind of dungeon than I expected. Fingers snap in front of my face, twice, three times. "This is the first time anyone's taken this long to recover from a measly little stunner... Wonder if it really does work differently on Muggles...?"

A  _stunner_? Pithy name for what hit me, really. It had all the subtlety of running a 1985 Chevy Silverado directly over my face, while blasting Nickelback at full volume. My head was  _still_ ringing to the tune of ' _Fight For All the Wrong Reasons_ _.'_

Also, that  _stunner_ had most likely been followed by landing face-first on the ground like a ton of bricks, pulverizing a few dozen vertebra and most of my upper body if past experience was anything to go by. Admittedly, I don't have any recollection of the moment, but I've busted my head enough times to see a trend emerging. Might explain the blindness, too.

Right - reality check. I'm strapped to a big ol' chair, there's a British guy hanging over me with a magical voodoo stick that makes  _stunners_ or whatever, and I have the cast of Survivor playing an African war-chant on my poor skull. This is an ugly situation.

_Well, a_ _t least we were already ugly._

"Shut the fuck up," I mumble to myself.

"There's no need to be rude, American," the Brit says in such a disparaging tone that for a moment I want to jump to a spirited defence of the land of freedom, booze, and inexplicably narrow-minded religious bigots - then I remember I'm a Canadian, and I stop giving a crap entirely. I silently apologize to myself for forgetting that detail, since it seemed like the appropriately stereotypical thing to do.

"American, you say? No more than you, guvnor," I blurt after a moment, because my thoughts rarely stay locked inside for long. "Also, if you haven't noticed, I'm blind, so I have reason to be a little peeved. If you gouged out my eyes, I swear I'm gonna Super-Mario your ass into a body cast, or maybe until coins start coming out."

It's a friendly introduction by my standards, even if I'm unsuccessfully attempting to mimic Wolvie's lethal drawl. I try to stretch in my seat, but my captor snaps his fingers, and ropes tighten around my wrists.

_Oh, right. Yeah. The wand-waving Waverly Place guy caught us red-handed._

Fucking hell, that's what I was missing before. He's the damn wizard of Oz. The mental connection re-establishes itself, probably around the same time my tortured brain decides to stop being a lazy bastard. I remember now. I tried to stylishly assassinate a wascally wizard, completely and utterly failed at it in every way imaginable, and now he's got me all chained up in his dungeon, and probably not in a hot way.

"I'm officially in the deep smelly stuff, aren't I?" I ask wearily.

"Hmm. You could say that, yes. As for your sight..." the wizard says, and suddenly the world snaps back into existence around me, rushing in like a wave of colour. A dark hardwood floor and smudgy grey walls flow into being as exposition sets the scene. I'm strapped to a chair, fair enough, but it's a very large, very fluffy armchair that seems to have little flying baseballs stitched all over it - and they're  _moving_. He's a wizard. I keep forgetting. A lot of things keep flitting away from me, really. I  _hate_ stunners _._

Okay - why am I here again? Fill me in, voices?

_Hell if I know. I'm_ you _, remember?_

Well, a fat load of good I am.  
 _  
_"I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding," I try at last, scrunching up my face as I try to gather my scrambled memories - this crap usually happens when I land on my head, but it tends to go away more quickly. "I could get you roses as an apology, and maybe a nice dead cat for your arcane rituals to contact Mephisto, Dread Lord of Mystical… Evil..."

Shit. I remember why I'm here, once again. The assassination stuff. I tried to shoot in the face.

The wizard stands before me with that little stick - a magic wand - raised in his hand, a shimmery cloak over his shoulders, glaring in clear annoyance. "You tried to shoot me in the face."

He has a point. I did, in fact, empty several large-caliber rifles into his smarmy posh head. He had probably refrained from mentioning my katanas for a good reason - I had never actually gotten to use them before they were inexplicably turned into two very surprised and irate swordfishes. It had actually been rather amazing, though very inconvenient.

_Note to self: swords and copious amounts of bullets are_ not  _weaknesses of wizards. Next time,_ _we_ _should try acid and biting sarcasm._

"Right, yeah, the shooting thing," I retort dryly. "Sorry about that. You gave me a bit of an opening there." I wince as I realize how my little defence sounds, but I can't stop the words from coming out of my mouth. I never can. "If you well-mannered Old-Worldly types didn't go through polite niceties, I'd never get the chance to shoot you in the face at all, so it's mostly your fault. Be thankful I'm Canadian - Imagine what an American would have done to you!" I shudder. "Worse yet, a freaking New-Yorker!"

"Funny, that." The wizard sighs to himself. "You do know that I live there, right?"

Fuck, I'd forgotten about that. He's  _that_ wizardly guy - the only one I actually knew about, but that is beside the point. He'd been all across the evening news for  _days_  now, in the wake of all those crazy videos appearing on the net. This was the guy who fulfilled a dream that my inner self has held since childhood - riding on the back of a nuclear missile like Slim Pickens, being a total freaking badass.

Alright, I have to admit it. This guy is kind of  _awesome_. So why did I want to shoot him again?

"You're lucky I was prepared for Muggle weapons," the wizard notes easily. "If you'd actually had a chance of doing serious damage with those guns of yours, I would have been a lot less merciful."

I let out a weary sigh. "Yeah, about that. What kind of world is this, where arrogant, dolphin-hating, hippie-kicking mercs can't even get a good hit in  _at all_?" I mutter as the wizardly dude raises an eyebrow. "Well, let's be honest - it's not fair when the bullets bounce off you like they're not made of  _metal_ and  _screaming death_. Invulnerability is some lame-ass overpowered DC shit, and you know it."

"I have no idea what you mean," the wizard says dryly. "As for my personal protection, which was clearly a very good idea, I've gotten used to it since a little incident a while back. Nuclear missiles and alien shape-shifting robots, you might have caught some of that on the telly. I tend to wear properly bulletproof clothing and a bit of anti-Muggle wizardry these days, all the good stuff." He frowns. "The upshot is, I can only be found by people who  _really_  want to find me. And you tracked me down while I wasn't even in costume."

Ah, yeah, the secret identity thing. People hate it when that comes out, I vaguely recall - I just wear a mask because of the ugly gob. I might have screwed up a teensy little bit there when I went and blasted the mystical wizard with an AK-47 in the middle of the street. "Yeah, I went looking for you. Thought that getting you as a civvie would be easier. It wasn't good enough, was it?"

The wand-waving fellow -

_Did you just think 'fellow'? For shame._

\- was silent for a very long time, and he seemed to study my mask, as if he was trying to see something there except for red and black and my lovable eyes. I took a certain delight in imagining the guy's expression when the mask came off, and he found out I looked like a cross of Ryan Reynolds and a melting Shar-Pei.

_Hey, don't insult those wrinkly dogs, they're cute and cuddly!_

Man, i'm such a fucking softie. I should burn down an orphanage later to balance that out.

"Questionable motives for assassination attempts aside, how  _did_ you know where to find me?" The wizard asks, cocking his head to the side, no anger visible on his face at all, just curiosity. "Maybe tracking me down in New York wouldn't even have been a surprise, since it's where a lot of us super-weirdoes hang out, but here in  _England_? Barely anyone knew that I even came here at all..."

Yeah, fuck if I know the answer to that one right now, with my scrambled messed-up head. "Can I... pass on that one?"

The wizard sighs like Al tends to, and I wonder if he's going to let the matter go out of sheer exasperation, since that tends to be the trend back home. Probably not, unfortunately.

"I thought you'd avoid answering. Do you even know who I am, mercenary?" The wizard raises an eyebrow inquisitively.

"I caught the lowdown on the telly - just 'the Magician', right?" I don't know a whole lot beyond what had been on my daily programming. "MSNBC's been singing your praises, CNN's utterly unreliable as usual, and Fox & Friends think you're an atheist devil incarnate and probably a project of the American government, like little old me. So, are ya?"

The wizard seemed utterly tired as he shrugged. "Of course not. And I'm not even from the States, obviously. You'd think after that interview I gave, people would have figured that out."

"Eh, people are idiots. Besides, Brits are -" I cross my fingers, "- tolerable. I'm Canadian, remember. We can mock America derisively from our respective positions of moral superiority! Or at least I could make some pretty good fart jokes." I frown, as something niggles at the corner of my brain. Something very important.

_His name totally sucks monkey-balls._

"Yeah, I agree. Magician is a shit moniker," I say slowly. The wizard's eyebrow twitches momentarily. "Seriously, I was thinking stage magician when I first heard it, and that's just pitiful, since you can do awesome shit like turn all sorts of things into fish _. Who does that?_  You're like the one person who could make Aquaman respectable again!"

"Merlin, you're another bloody Tony," the wizard mutters, rubbing his forehead.

"You should retcon the name. How 'bout making it something  _awesome_? Like, strap pouches everywhere, and go by Wizard X! It would be  _sweet!_ I even did that thing, long ago. It's really useful, and Liefeld would  _love_  you. If not that, you could just go with something like the Thaumaturge..." I stop myself, but the bullshit name slips out. "No - too pretentious, too hipster. Magi, maybe? You could go for Dark Lord, if you're into that sort of thing. Hey, what about good old Sorcerer? That's cool."

The wizard frowns. Crap. He seems unconvinced.

"Just add something to it, to make it extra awesome. Mega Sorcerer - or Badass Mc Magic, or maybe you could be like the Sorcerer Supreme or something?" There's a roll of thunder in the distance, and I'm pretty sure half of my brain is shouting something about heathens and blasphemy, but at least I bought myself some time. "...Yeah, that sounds nice."

_Nice? Sheesh. Think, brain, think. That's what I keep you around for!  
_   
_What about_ me,  _then?_

The wizard walks over to a window, glancing momentarily out from between the covered blinds. He looks almost cool, if not for the messy mop of hair on his head, and the fact that he talks like he's from England - which he  _is._ Only James Bond gets to be awesome with an English accent, and most of the actors playing him aren't even English, anyway - or was he supposed to be Scottish? Whatever. Wizards were supposed to chant in mystical Latin, not edge on Cockney.

"I admit, there's a good idea or two in your suggestions," the Magician - blegh - says. "But again, that's all irrelevant when it comes to our little - situation. You're awfully talkative for someone who's on his own, without backup, actually." He frowns. "I got a little info on you while you were out cold - and I doubt there's too many people who get bent out of shape over a missing merc."

"You'd be surprised!"

He shakes his head. "Want to know what I found? Wade Wilson... Remnant of some defunct classified project, now a mercenary for hire going by the nickname  _Deadpool_ _._ "

I nod enthusiastically. "Yeah. Now  _t_ _hat's_ what I'm talkin' about - that's a badass name, ain't it?" I mentally give my little voices a high-five. "By the way, since I shot you in the face, and you shot me in the face, in my experience that means we're friends. So - just Wade, until we go at each other's throat again, kay?"

I grin merrily, hoping to catch him off guard - and honestly mostly playing for time, and enjoying the little head-to-head. It's clear that this guy's not going to try and off me.

"Wade, then. I've never been on a first-name basis with one of my assassins before," the wizard says, apparently a little amused. "Nice to meet the infamous Deadpool; I've heard a few stories. You got into a tussle with a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in Tuscany once, isn't that right?" He smirks. "If I'm calling you Wade, just call me Harry."

 _Seriously?_ __  
  
"Seriously?"

 _Harry_ scowls. "Yes. Why does everyone keep sounding so surprised about that? It's a perfectly valid name to have. Even the  _prince_ is named Harry, honestly."

I shrug. "It's just - Harry the Wand-waving Wizard, it's sort of a -  _thing_ ," I explain to him. "Look - when you're near a good bookstore, go look in the fiction section. You'll probably find it in between the collected works of Shaft and -"

My mouth keeps moving, but my voice is gone. It takes me a few moments before I stop out of bafflement, and a bad memory bubbles up. I just became the Merc Without a Mouth again. As long as I don't start growing swords out of my hands or shooting laser-beams, I should be fine.

_Must... resist... terrible adaptation..._

"There, that's much better." The wizard paces slowly around the chair. "All jokes aside, there's something we have to discuss. You came to kill me, and mercenaries tend to do that kind of thing for a single reason: money. So, I want to know who hired you." The wizard reaches into his pouch - his hand vanishing way too far into it for comfort - and he pulls out a tiny little bottle. "In case you were thinking of lying to me - I don't want to go this far, but I will. This little vial contains a potion that's called Veritaserum. If your Latin's rusty, you'd know the stuff as  _truth serum_."

Ah, crap. Definitely a negative in the boding well category.

"I expect a name, so I can pay your employer a visit. I could also read your mind, I suppose, but it would be - painful. Excruciatingly." He looks almost apologetic. "I'm not usually a violent person unless I can help it, but these days I find myself in these situations more than I'd like. At least I'll make sure to drop you off somewhere populated afterwards. So, please work with me, Wade."

_Just make something up! Like Bob Saget! Or maybe you can blame Satan or Morgoth or something, he seems like the type to be on first-name basis with 'em._

My tongue suddenly unties, and I admit that the choice between truth-serum and brain-invasion was a tough one, and neither option appealed. Honestly, telling the truth would probably be easier - it's not like I had any loyalty to speak of. And that serum is awfully threatening, given all the crap hidden away in the crannies of my tortured cranium.

Still, there's one other thing I want to know…

"Before we get to that shit - you know my whole name, excluding the embarrassing middle names that shall not be spoken of, so I demand to know yours too!"

The argument makes no sense, but what the fuck do I care? I'm curious, and odds are I'm about to be screwed over anyway. Might as well have some fun. My question clearly catches my captor off guard. Then he cracks a smile.

"I thought we'd covered that. You really are a weird one, aren't you?" He shrugs after a few moments, as if sharing a joke with himself - I know the feeling. "Eh, what the hell, it's not like anyone would recognize it. I'm Harry Potter."

_Harry Potter._

"Well, no wonder you changed your name," I say dryly. "Troll 2 was goddamn awful."

Potter just looks defeated.

"Besides,  _Potter_ in a nickname would be awful," I continue. "Mage Potter? Bleh. Sorcerer Potter? Passable, but still shit. Magician Potter? Ridiculous. Dark Lord Potter - well, that's taken. How about -"

"Would you  _please_ shut up and answer my question?" Potter seems downright impatient now. "If you want to call me any of your weird titles, go ahead - but I don't have all day to mess around with a deranged mercenary. If you won't comply, I'll have to go for this." He wiggles the little bottle. "We'd probably both prefer to avoid that."

"It would be pretty rude," I point out unnecessarily. "Besides, it would be pointless. Nobody hired me."

I bet he didn't fucking expect that!

_That's because it's a lie._

It is? Actually, that's a very good question. Why  _did_ I come all the way out here to the land of tea and crumpets, just to fire a few rounds at this wizardly guy's head? Wasn't I watching television late at night, snacking on a whole lot of popcorn while on the second re-run of The Wire?(A show full of pussies, by the way. Shoot them all in the head and be done with it!) I'm pretty sure I'd planned on nothing but porn and crime procedurals for the next few days, too.

"You're actually not lying," Potter says wonderingly. "You weren't hired to kill me? You're a mercenary - a killer for hire. That's how you  _work._ It's what you do. Why the hell would you go after me, unless you were hired to?"

I bite my lip. "...Pass? Ah, shit, I already used one..."

The wizard frowns, and raises that flimsy-looking wooden wand, then pauses. "There is something I could try - just the surface thoughts should be fine..." He reaches back into his pocket, and retrieves a  _second_ wand, a bumpy and dangerous-looking one that he handles with a certain wariness. "I've got a suspicion, and I'll have to go and check. I'm pretty sure you were manipulated into coming here, perhaps through a Muggle equivalent of the Imperius. Wouldn't surprise me, with all the things I've seen lately."

Fuck if I know what a  _Muggle_ is supposed to be, but his threat of mind-reading is still clear in my mind.

"Eh - didn't you say something about  _excruciating pain_ earlier? Because I'm not a huge fan of being tortured while strapped to a chair. I have a history." As expected, my brain pipes up with its unwanted screams of mercy. Fuck, I'm such a wuss.

_Not again. Not again! I won't let us be taken again!_

Yeah. That side of my brain's a damn coward.

Potter shrugs slightly. "Well, Veritaserum wouldn't help any, and there's not a whole lot of alternatives, really. If you wish, I can wipe your memory of it afterwards, that'd remove any residual effects. If your bio's accurate, I'm pretty sure I couldn't screw things up further than they already were, anyway."

_No. Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare._

My mind is a cacophony of panicking voices, and a sudden and insatiable desire for crumpets. One overriding thought emerges after a moment.  _I was manipulated to come here_. Someone had been messing with my head, again _._  Was it Taskmaster's work, like the last time he fucked me over? Killebrew? Damn, what if that bald bastard from the damn X-freaks? It doesn't matter. I'll kill 'em all. But I'll need to know who to spray with a hail of lethal gunfire first.

"Well, if you're gonna see all the juicy insides, might as well see the outside bits," I say jovially. "It's getting a little stuffy in here, you know." I gesture vaguely to my head. "D'you mind?"

At least I'll have his reaction to savor.

Potter removes my mask without hesitation, and there's not even a twitch. No retching, no quick departure for the - what do they call it? A loo? No scrunched nose or expression of pity. Just indifference. I'm a little disappointed.

"That's it?"

He smiles. "Honestly, I've had teachers that are uglier than you. Did you honestly think that scabs were going to send me running? If you wish, I could act disgusted, though." He smirks as he raises his wand.  _"_ Let's get this over with.  _Legilimens."_

A flash of momentary light erupts from the tip of the wooden stick, and I'm ready to let out a bloodcurdling scream. I have already checked to see how I can best slump down while tied to the chair - but I don't feel a goddamned thing. The wizard's eyes are vaguely distant, twitching ever-so-slightly as he shifts his wand back and forth - and I'm perfectly fine, staring at him with mild befuddlement. Nothing happened.

For several long, drawn-out moments, nothing continues to happen.

"Well, that was fucking anticlimactic."

_Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout! You don't belong! Nononono, go away! NONONO! That's not yours! That's mine! My own! My precious memories!_

Ah. I guess instead of screaming out loud, I'm using my  _inside_ voice.

_Don't! No! IneedthatIneedthat! Itsimportantimportant!_

A momentary surge of pain erupts just behind my left eye, and I blink in consternation as the voice diminishes, mumbling incoherently as it vanishes to the background. All the chatter in my head stops, all the insane mumblings, the crazy little asides, the perpetually present hum of the  _Best of Queen_ that I memorized a decade ago. Total silence takes over.

For the first time in what has to be twenty-odd years, I feel like Wade Wilson again, instead of twenty-four other people vaguely conglomerated into one mind. I spend about thirty seconds considering my newfound stability, and observe that my insatiable need for senseless murder has quite suddenly vanished. Indeed, I feel like heading home and having a good long talk with Blind Al about my inconsiderate behaviour - and I should probably apologize to Logan, too.

Silence.

Blessed silence.

I sigh. "Meh. I almost forgot that sanity is fucking boring."

Then, with a blast of mind-searing cold and the shock of neurons realigning, everything snaps back to how it was before, and the wizard in front of me sags a little, dropping his wand to his side as he stares in disbelief. I briefly listen in on a particularly good bit of Queen's  _The Miracle_ before I meet the guy's eyes again.

_FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. NEVER DO THAT SHIT AGAIN._

You're back! Oh how I've missed you, cute little yellow voice!

"That was - disturbing," Potter says after a long moment, in which he looks vaguely nauseous. " _Very_ disturbing _,_ actually _._ What the hell did those people do to you?"

There. Now I see it. The pity.

_KILL HIM, KILL HIM AND KEEP DOING IT UNTIL HE STOPS EXISTING IN EVERY POSSIBLE REALITY._

Eh. Maybe later.

"All sorts of stuff, I'm sure," I answer dryly. "You took a peek inside my head, so you tell me. I don't care to remember most of it." I prod my little voice, hoping it'll shut up and let me think. "Also - don't do that again. I think you upset my brain a little."

_I HATE THE LIMEY FUCKING BASTARD - HATE Hi-_

Mercifully, that particular voice quiets down as it starts mumbling to itself.

"You didn't feel any of that...?" Potter pauses. "Obliviators would have a bloody field-day trying to fix you." He paces again. "Even when I shoved all that random crap aside, it came right back! Your whole mind's adapted to  _insanity._ It's working on several different levels, most of which are completely pointless _._ Why? What kind of project would produce something this - this  _broken_?"

I sigh. I don't need melodrama. "Shit happens. Should I blame the government? Blame society? Or should I blame the images on TV?" I smirk victoriously. "Nah. I'll blame  _Canada_!"

_A South Park reference? That was fucking awful._

Ah, my inner voice is still there - though not quite the same, since I can still hear the other one mutter to himself in some corner of my prefrontal cortex. Probably just created a new one, actually. Hopefully, the other will recover - or I'll have to buckle down and start calling him  _Sméagol_ so that he can entertain me. He's got most of it down already.

"Right. That happened. So, who the hell was it?" I ask.

Potter grimaces. "Right. It seems Tarleton's not the only one that's been busy with things. Have you ever heard of a General Thaddeus Ross? Known as  _Thunderbolt_  to some." He narrows his eyes dangerously. "He's been on a friend's case for a long time, but he's never shown interest in me before. I wonder if I should pay a visit..."

_The guy who tried to hire us last month? He's a proactive bastard, isn't he?_

"He got to me? How?"

"Apparently - he spiked your milk with something," Potter says, looking slightly embarrassed for me. "Don't know what was in it, but it knocked you out despite this healing thingie you've got. Whatever came after, it's not anything that you remember. You were unconscious, I imagine."

I knew that milk had tasted  _off_ , but had he honestly been drugged? Who even had drugs that could take him down in a hurry? Heck, you'd need something strong enough to take down the freaking - oh. Yeah.

A  _friend,_ Potter had said.I could guess which one he meant. Big, green, and angry.

"Well, it looks like I'm gonna filet a motherfucker," I mutter in annoyance. I hate it when people hire me without asking. "Look - Harry, Potter, Magician, whatever - stay the hell out of this. Take it from a  _friend,_  you don't want to get involved." I smirk. "I'll go see what the fuss is about. Shoot a few people, ask a few questions, maybe in reverse order. You - do whatever wizardly crap you do."

Potter grimaces. "That's all well and good, but I can't trust you, Wade."

"God no, of course you can't," I agree. "But that doesn't mean I won't do what I say."

_Actually -_

Shut up.

"I'll handle it myself," Potter says, and he looks to me with an apologetic expression that I really don't like. "This has gone on long enough. I won't bring you in - I'm not really a policeman, and I sort of lied when I insinuated that someone was coming. I'll leave you by the road, so you can hitch a ride home." He raises his wand. "Sorry about this, Wade.  _Obli -"_

"Won't work." I smile, and he falters. Thankfully, since whatever that was, it would totally have worked. "This whole interrogation thing, you're not very good at it, you know that? Yeah, you disarmed me, but you should have probably gotten me out of this suit, too. Or at least gotten rid of my belt."

Potter pauses. "Right... Because?"

I wink. " _Bodyslide by One!_ "

His baffled expression entertains me tremendously as I teleport home.

_Next time, put a bullet in his fucking ass!_

God, no. This is not that kind of story.


	30. Apocalypse Then

The wind stirred momentarily as Harry appeared with a pop, his hands in his pockets and his mokeskin pouch strapped to his waist, carrying most of his worldly possessions. His gaze wandered over his new surroundings and his face betrayed a flicker of distaste. This would have been Hogsmeade, in another world. In this one, it was just a soggy mess.

Decrepit ruins marred the hillside, looking decidedly weathered and unsightly rather than monumental in the dreary weather; a slight drizzle rained down on him, uncomfortably chilling. The path to Hogwarts, if it could be called that, was barely visible and worn away by time and neglect. Still, the pillars that flanked the road that ran up to the castle were familiar, though the statues that stood upon them had long since fallen off, or broken into pieces.

He was here for a reason; he slipped his wand out of his pocket, casually waterproofing his cloak and glasses, thinking back to a truly terrible Quidditch game with a slight smile. Still, the ruin here did not make it easy to be positive. Not just because it was a broken reminder of what happened to the wizards of this world, but also because of his dreams, his nightmares. They came frequently now, sharper than before, and they lingered in the mind.

The walls of Hogwarts dominated the rare moments when he could get enough sleep, and all he could think of was the tall man who spoke about the coming apocalypse, about the end of wizard kind. Every time, it seemed as if his voice broke more, betrayed more hidden anguish. Something moved above the clouds in those terrible dreams, something terrifying and huge. The futility of trying to shut oneself away from oncoming death was clear to him, and instinctual fear kept him going, prevented him from simply sitting down and waiting for the inevitable.

And then there was  _her._ The spectre of Death was there, just as Harry remembered her, her pale face turned away as if in disgust, or perhaps a trace of pity.

_Lock the hidden passage," the bald man commanded._

_The boy faltered._ " _Lock it?"_

" _As permanently as you can manage. If we make it out of here, we will have the time to dismantle the protections at our leisure. If we do not…" He raised an eyebrow as he glanced aside. "Well? Why are you still here, Ambrosius?"_

_The world caught on fire._ She  _was standing by the battlements, staring neutrally over the fiery sky and hundreds of refugees, her black hood pulled almost entirely over her face. All that was visible was the dull gleam of polished bone. Death._

_She turned slightly, empty eye sockets suddenly replaced by sad eyes, as she held a gleaming, shimmering glass sphere in a bony hand._   _An opaque object, swirling with clouds, it drew his eyes as if it had a gravity all its own, as if the whole world orbited around it._

Harry shook his head, shivering. The inescapable conclusion that he had drawn from the twisted dreams weighed heavily on his mind, and he knew he had to come here, to see it for himself. Tony and Bruce had their own things to deal with, and perhaps this was the last time he had the opportunity to come here, if his fears were justified. It could hardly be a coincidence that he saw Death in his dreams, her ghostly figure standing upon the fallen battlements in those last moments, as if marking their passage. He saw that image even when he closed his eyes.

The dreams had to be real, not figments of his imagination. They were memories.  _The memories of Death._  She was trying to tell him something with their content, perhaps reluctant to pull him into Hel again, considering his less than favourable first meeting. She was passing a message through these dreams, but they were of events long past. Was he supposed to be a witness to them, her twisted idea of a gift? Harry shuddered as he sought for the black-cloaked figure among the stones, wondering when she would show her face again, to tell him more unwanted truths.

The silence was broken quite suddenly. Harry felt his presence before he saw it, aware of the eerie peace fading from around him, as if it reluctantly retreated into the nooks and crannies. A figure had appeared besides Harry without even a whisper of movement, standing still, his hands clasped behind his back. "So, the lonely wizard returns to his ivory tower," the newcomer said with half a smile, his horned helmet shining palely in the failing light. "How very quaint."

"Loki," Harry replied coolly, narrowing his eyes at the green-clad Asgardian who inclined his head, a corner of his mouth turning up as his eyes seemed to pierce right through him.

Loki smirked. "At your service."

Harry sighed. "Why are you here? Are you following me? This visit has nothing to do with the cube. It's personal, if anything."

"Ah," Loki breathed, smirking. "But that is where you are wrong." The Asgardian gestured theatrically. "This place, this remnant of a fallen civilization, it's the  _key_ to things _._ It was inevitable that you would go back here, since you are the only one who can approach it. Others are held back by superstitious awe, or something else." He stopped next to Harry, wiping imaginary dust off his lapels.

"Why is that?" Harry asked, glancing to the Asgardian with half a mind to send him off, but quite sure that the man would keep inviting himself.

"This was the last bastion," Loki said shortly. "The Seidhr were in far greater numbers on the mainland, of course, but that is where the eradication began. Few had time to prepare, and most died in their homes, cut down before they realized their enchantments provided little protection. Here, some of the strongest of your kind gathered together, to fend off the end, and they succeeded for a time." He frowned as he looked away, to the ruins. "The end of the Seidhr has to be linked to the cube, for I have no doubt that the true reason for their destruction is clear to you. Though magic went extinct on Midgard, the enemy never gained their prize, and its protections would last for centuries afterwards... They were wrought from more than wizardry, since Odin All-Father himself had a hand in things, if indirectly. It took a millennium for the defences to wither down to nothing."

"Until now," Harry said darkly. "So, it seems all the world's wizards were killed over a shiny bauble that belongs to  _your_  people. Fantastic." He looked away. "If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone."

"So that you can pity yourself in peace?" Loki asked. "For someone who believes he is in this world to get away from his old life, you are quite content to wallow in your misery."

"Shut up," Harry spat, whirling around to face Loki, his wand raised. He took a few deep breaths. "I'm just here to confirm a theory, nothing more," he said at last. He quickly walked towards the centre of Hogwarts' ruins with a stiff gait, ignoring the look of disbelief that Loki sent him.

"You are having prophetic dreams," Loki observed. Harry froze in his tracks. "You seem to be under a misapprehension about me," the Asgardian added, reaching out with one hand. As they met Harry's shoulder, his fingers slipped through the fabric of Harry's clothes and then right through his skin, like a ghost. "I am not - shall we say -  _present._ Remember that your mind was once caught in the worst of circumstances, and I returned you to the way you were. Did you think that such a reconstruction was simple, even for me? The connection was inevitable."

" _Again?_ " Harry groaned, thinking of Voldemort, and the curse scar. "I have all the bloody luck."

"It seems so," Loki confirmed, and his eyes briefly took on a reddish glow that was far too familiar for comfort. "In truth, I am far from where I could harm you: I am in Asgard. There is much about magic that people fail to understand, that even you have little knowledge of, despite your hereditary gifts. Distance is not a factor in this mental communication, as I speak through the space between spaces - still, maintaining such a link is difficult in the first place. It has to be mutual in some respect to stabilize, if you will. If you wished me gone I would never be able to speak to you at all. Which implies that despite your words, you do not truthfully desire solitude."

Harry sighed, and looked away. "...Maybe," he reluctantly admitted. He perked up. "Wait, if you're in Asgard now, then you can tell me, did Sif arrive safely? Will she be coming back to Earth soon?"

Loki narrowed his eyes momentarily, displeased at Harry's eager expression. "The Lady Sif is confined to Asgard, as the All-Father demands. The gate to all worlds is closed. None may cross Yggdrasil until the crisis is over."

"Why?" Harry questioned, looking at the ruins of Hogwarts. "And why are you here, now? So you could see me mourn people I haven't actually met?"

"You are the reason," Loki started. "Your magic intrigues me, as do the Seidhr in general. There are many who can tap into the arcane, who can funnel their power into transformative effects upon the universe, but there are none like your kind of wizard, not anymore. The All-Father is considered the greatest of Asgard when it comes to magic. Indeed, he studied with the Seidhr of old, learned about their crafts. I suspect that the wizards enchanted Gungnir, his spear, giving it its unique properties, and inspiring the creation of other wonders. Regardless, for all its power, Asgardian magic is appallingly restrictive."

"Wizards are limited too," Harry countered quickly. "Most of us couldn't even light a candle without a wand, and there's a whole array of things that were impossible for one reason or another, like conjuring food, or resurrecting the dead."

Loki shrugged. "I was not speaking of the average practitioner. In Asgard, magic is considered a lesser art, and many of my kin fill their days with drinking and merriment, and care little for intellectual discourse. There are but few exceptions." He snorted. "Most are like my brother, thick-headed and with more muscles than wit. Among the Seidhr, too, few were capable of bringing their art to perfection, but those few were powerful enough to make the gods themselves tremble in fear."

Harry considered Voldemort and Dumbledore, and he could only imagine what damage they might have done to people who had no clue about magic, who were completely defenceless against even the weakest charm. Neither had lived in this world, but there had to have been others throughout history, ultimately defeated by their own hubris. Like Ambrosius, perhaps.  _Merlin_ Ambrosius.

Loki ignored Harry's short gasp. "The strongest of the Seidhr were called Black-staffs, named for their focus. Their magic was of the darkest kind, though they used it for many purposes, both good and ill - they were once in contact with Asgard, and kept alliances for a long period, until relationships soured." He shook his head mournfully. "The All-Father fought them after they betrayed our people to the Frost Giants of Jotunheim, but he did not mark their end."

Harry frowned. "And the rest of the wizards?"

Loki shrugged. "I have no doubt that it was the Black-staffs who were the origin of the so-called  _Tesseract,"_ he said in lieu of an answer. "The cube was among the spoils of war when their leader fell in battle at the hand of a Seidmadr that was still allied to Asgard. Unfortunately, events conspired against all of them, and neither our allies nor the black-staffs survived the terrible firestorm that followed, the destruction of the arcane on Midgard." He looked around, frowning. "I can sense it even now, through you, the mutilation of things. It must have taken centuries for the world to recover, and by that time, the mystical creatures of Midgard had long vanished."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Who was responsible for all that, then?" he asked. "You're implying that most of the wizards were victims of circumstance, aren't you, since someone was after the strongest of them, these black-staffs? Looking for the Tesseract, perhaps? Who decided that every wizard should die because of a feud with a few of them?"

"Not Asgard, obviously," Loki replied dryly. "Nor the Frost Giants, I think, as they showed no interest in such things. I suspected the Kree for a while, they were a warlike people in those days, but they most likely would have occupied Midgard in its weakest hour. The Chitauri would have consumed all in their path. I could suggest more outlandish possibilities: creatures from beyond the rim, the great Gah Lak Tus, the dead ones from dark stars. All those would have done far worse than merely kill."

"So... You don't know," Harry summarized. "I'm guessing it wasn't unprovoked?" He stared ahead with furrowed brow, remembering that horrible moment that the Dementors invoked in him. He thought of Voldemort stepping towards him and his mother, telling her to step aside. The image of Death on the battlements occurred to him again, standing vigil as the last wizards prepared for their final retreat. A familiar sphere was clasped between her spindly fingers. A terrible foreboding feeling ignited in Harry's gut, an uncomfortably familiar sensation that reminded him far too much of that day he had found out about his fate, in Dumbledore's office.

_Neither shall live while the other survives._

The two sorcerers walked silently along the Hogwarts lake, which no longer existed as it used to, as Harry considered the implications. Oblong and shallow, there was not much left of the water, with a few puddles of rainwater along the edges. Here and there, portions of the great castle had collapsed into the depression that was left behind, and big grey blocks stuck out of the mushy ground like broken teeth, or gravestones. Loki followed him, his cloak untouched by the wind.

The last time Harry had come here, shortly after his arrival in this world, it had been a mere curiosity that drove him, Harry reflected. He had been a little confused, especially when Diagon Alley turned up missing, and come to Hogwarts for something familiar, hoping beyond hope that there was magic in this world.

"Someone is messing with fate, again," Harry said at last, turning to Loki. "If prophecies existed in my world, then they certainly must have in this one. Whoever destroyed all wizards, all magic, they might have done it out of aggression or revenge - but someone angry enough to commit genocide would probably not be bothered by Muggle casualties. One that was determined to stop a prediction, however..." He scowled. "Like Voldemort, they might go right for the heart, intent on slaying that which would be their end."

"Genocide as a preventative measure," Loki observed. "How droll."

Harry glanced at him coolly. "For a millennium, wizards have been extinct, here. Your people left, and the cube was lost in the interim, so whatever prediction was made, it must have been successfully prevented. Still, right when I appear in these parts, the road to Asgard reopens enough to let you and Sif through. The Tesseract is discovered, too." He grimaced. "Something tells me that it's not a coincidence. This mess is not over."

Harry kicked a broken rock in his way, hard, sending it crashing into the remnants of the lake below. A darkened face loomed in his memories, a terrible face that gazed with desire at the blue glow of the Tesseract, intent on clasping a golden glove around it. At the creature's side, impartial, was Death, her skull-like face a mask of grief.

"You could accept Asgardian assistance. If it is the cube that this enemy is after, then surely it would be better to remove it from Midgard," Loki said. "If it is  _you_ that your foe wishes to exterminate, then take Odin's offer of amnesty. I am sure he can be talked into letting you through, even if he would close the gate behind you."

"You know I'm not a coward, Loki," Harry snapped, before pausing for a moment to simmer down. "There's other things to consider than just me. Tarleton is connected to all of this, and whoever was in control of him must be well aware that I rummaged around in his head. I haven't exactly been covert, making public appearances on television and the like, if in costume - and I have been spotted with several other peculiar people." He snorted. "I was with  _Tony,_ of course I'd be noticed. If I left this place, regardless of where to, it would probably change nothing. The enemy must know where to find me already, and arranging for international war suggests that he's not bothered about collateral, not this time around. Most likely, I'm not even the real target."

The Asgardian huffed, rolling his eyes. "Do I have to remind you that the last time this threat appeared upon your shores, only magic was destroyed? Midgard was permitted to survive."

Harry shook his head. "Perhaps then - but those were the Middle Ages, people did not exactly pose much of a threat. Now, though - Muggles are getting too close to being dangerous to whatever's out in the dark, and Sif already told me she's convinced that it won't end nicely. Tarleton was a product of advanced technology, and I'm guessing that he's only the beginning of what we're facing. If Tony's father could create an Arc Reactor, then others can do more than that, and there's no telling where it'll end. If the Earth attracts attention before it can defend itself..." He frowned. "Well, we have a team lined up to defend it, don't we? Tony, Bruce, Natasha, Clint, not to mention Sif, when she gets around again, and whoever else S.H.I.E.L.D. can fetch. And me, of course."

"Ah yes: a tinkerer, a beast, a handful of spies. Truly the world's mightiest," Loki drawled. "Add the much-vaunted 'Master of Death' to top it off. Surely a group barely capable of stopping a minor warhead can withstand an interstellar armada." The Asgardian sighed wearily. "Clearly you haven't gotten quite enough of dramatics."

" _That,_ coming from  _you,_ Loki? Don't make me laugh." Harry ignored the Asgardian's sneer, glancing to his side. Perched on one of the broken walls near the entrance of Hogwarts, six meters up, was a small camera with a tiny little light that blinked on and off every few seconds. He had been caught by it on his first day here in this world, and alerted S.H.I.E.L.D. with it. With a single word, it fizzled out with a spark.

The great door of the Hogwarts entrance hall was old and rotten, practically collapsing under its own weight, but the rusted metal hinges seemed strong enough to keep it upright. There were a few half-decayed stone statues around the courtyard, their features blurred by years of rain, but the very vague outlines of great hogs were still visible. Harry ran his hand across the wooden door while Loki leaned against the marred wall, looking on with a veneer of boredom, though his eyes betrayed that he was alert.

"If this is the last remnant of Wizarding-kind, and I have reason to think that it is, then perhaps I'll figure out who our enemy is, in here," Harry started. "We'll need that kind of information. If you just want to hunt your shiny bauble, go bother someone else." He turned to the door, not waiting for an answer. " _Alohomora,_ " he whispered as he ran his wand down the grain. There was a soft click inside. He pushed against the door, but it would not budge. Something was blocking the door, it seemed. He grabbed one of the large metal rings on the door, hoping that pulling on it wouldn't tear the door apart, and gave it a good shove. Slowly it moved outward.

Just as the door opened enough, and Harry tried to sneak a peek, there was a ripple in the air, static electricity that was far too powerful to ignore, a wave of power. Harry released the ring as it shocked him on his hand with a vicious jolt; the huge door slammed shut with a solid thump. Slowly, the almost tangible force vanished, subsided into insignificance again. A click resounded as the door locked itself.

Harry stared, wide-eyed. "So, I'm the last wizard, but there's still magic," Harry said. Loki was next to him, leaning in with gleaming eyes. Harry reached out, smiling to himself. "Unmistakable. These are remnants of ancient enchantments, alive and well after a thousand years of dormancy.  _Incredible!_ "

"They are more than remnants," Loki added. "There are strong defences, though they are paper-thin. A veneer of protection rather than a wall. They should be easy to push through. This is something that would veil the eyes of many, as it has surely been stronger in the past. Long ago, it might have fooled the All-Father himself into passing it by."

Harry swallowed thickly. Magic.  _Powerful_ magic. Nothing but ruins remained of the castle, and it had been neglected for a thousand years, yet someone had put a spell on the door that was strong enough to deny him entry, even now. Harry reached out again, and he could feel the roiling energy below his hands, watching what he might do, almost as if it was aware of him. There was no telling what would happen if he tried to force the door again. This had to be a spell cast by the Founders themselves, or by Merlin.

Magic had persisted here, even with its practitioners long dead, hidden away inside the stone and the wood so deeply that not even Harry had felt it, the first time he had come. Harry smiled in recognition as he finally put his hand back on the door, well away from the metal rings. Hogwarts was  _alive._  This feeling was familiar, just as he remembered from his own version of the castle. For a brief instant it felt like he had stepped back to his own world and visited a Wizarding world that was still going strong.

The world abruptly faded around him, and something  _else_  took its place. He saw himself, standing before the remnants of an ancient tree, plants flourishing on all sides. He held a wand to the side of his head, his eyes closed, and by his side stood the spectre of death, one bony hand resting softly on his shoulder even as she touched the other side of his head with her icy finger. The clearing flared with light, with an incandescent glow that was painful to look at, that seemed to surge through him; then it vanished, and he was gone as well.

_What the hell was_ that _?_

The lock on the door clicked open.

* * *

"Are you  _completely_  insane?"

"Not according to my psychiatrist," Tony replied tersely, looking up from his laptop. "What's going on now, Rhodey? I'm busy with some  _very important_ things right now. They require my full attention. I swear, if I make one typo, I will get a  _swarm_  of incredulous responses that you won't believe - its the internet, after all" He glanced aside, to the teen sitting next to him with an identical laptop. "How's it going on your end?"

"Good, excellent," Peter Parker said awkwardly, glancing to Rhodey with a curious expression before he turned back to his screen. "Just tell me what to do, Mr. Stark."

A momentary expression of unease flitted over Tony's face. "Just 'Tony'. You make it sound like I'm pushing fifty, and I'd like to think I don't look shrivelled yet." He stretched, cracking his knuckles. "Rhodey, sit down. You're making me nervous when you hover." He gestured vaguely to his cell phone, which was propped up against a pile of disorganized files on his desk. "I'm waiting for my legal team to call any moment - I need to focus. I can't afford distractions. Not when I'm working."

"You're surfing the internet and posting on message boards under assumed names," Rhodey deadpanned. "I checked the secure feed, you know. You gave me access yourself, did you think I wouldn't use it? What are you up to?"

Tony scowled. "I'm surfing the internet  _and I'm working,_ both _._ Multi-tasking, have you heard of it?" The genius prodded his neighbour in the arm. "Hey, Peter, I had a brainwave. Tell me, what would it take, do you think, to stretch an all-organic network line from this building to, say... the courthouse we talked about?"

Peter blinked. "Uh, all-organic?"

Tony tapped his wrist. "Custom formula, just go with it. I need to know how much it would take, assuming the usual thickness of the strands. I'm thinking maybe six or so packages, but I'm not sure if that's practical."

Rhodey stepped forward and slammed Tony's laptop closed then, and its owner winced when it beeped in protest. "Look, I'm not an idiot. Tell me what you're doing, because I sure as hell don't think it's legal." He narrowed his eyes. "Who is this guy?"

"That  _guy_ is my newest employee,  _pal_ ," Tony replied immediately. "Grumpy, meet Peter Parker. Peter, meet James Rhodes, liaison of whatever, yadda yadda," He flipped his laptop open again with a frown. "As for what I'm doing... I'm firing the first shot. It'll take a few days to catch on, but by the time I'm going in for the hearing, it'll be everywhere."

"The lawsuit?" Rhodey asked. "Against Justin Hammer? It could drag on for months, Tony. You should let me handle it, as your liaison with the armed forces... You have no idea what kind of things these people will pull out of their-" He coughed. "What they'll come up with to discredit you."

"The military's behind this whole mess, so I rather think your involvement would work against me," Tony observed. "Both Hammer and the government are after my weapons, and I happen to have a serious love for the second amendment." He raised an eyebrow. "There's a general or two that are ready to shoot a few new holes in me if it means they can have the Iron Man, and recent events have hardly improved that. I intend to pick up that gauntlet and shove it in their face."

"Do you think you can win against the legal might of the entire government?" Rhodey snapped. "If you go in and make this personal, they'll  _skin you alive,_  Tony. Hammer will see to that, at least. You can't assume they'll stay unconcerned forever, at some point they'll hit back. It's best, then, if it's your representatives that take the blow, rather than you personally. It could wreck your company."

Tony shrugged. "The army's cagey about revealing the events in Chili to the public, but they know what I did, and they intend to use it against me. They'll frame it to be a demonstration that I'm a danger to the world, by cutting together some footage of destroying robots and claiming they're government-owned. I don't think they'll get any more creative than that. It'd be enough."

"So...?"

Tony smiled. "I destroyed that option. The footage is on the internet now, Rhodey.  _The whole thing,_ barring sensitive stuff like identities. I've got footage from everyone: from the suit camera, two different ground stations that I tapped into, and one recording via a dinky old satellite. The whole show is on it, including the explosive ending, and it's plenty clear what we were fighting. Everyone will  _know._ "

"Know  _what?_ " Rhodey asked. "That you have fantastic CGI technology? Who's going to believe it?" Rhodey ran a hand through his short hair. "I can hardly believe it, and I know this stuff happened, right down to someone riding a nuclear missile into the stratosphere."

"I don't have to do anything to make people believe it's true," Tony said with a lazy smile. "You underestimate the resourcefulness of the public, and just how many people are watching. It'll be a matter of time before amateurs just happen to stumble across supporting information. Like the suspiciously unprotected video files that show the removal of a cruise missile's remains from my Malibu home. Or the footage from local police sources that will mysteriously pop up, even after the authorities were quite thorough in destroying their records."

"You're manipulating this on a grand scale, then," Rhodey said, shaking his head. "It will blow up n your face."

Tony shrugged. "There's nothing illegal on the tapes. The army can't charge me for using my private property in defence of the country, especially since I made sure that it was legal through S.H.I.E.L.D. Granted, they probably won't be named in court. Hammer just lost his ticket to claiming the Iron Man's a danger to society, since the only thing he can show is me protecting it."

"You think that will stick?"

Tony nodded. "He will try to go around it - but I'm ready. Bringing Stark Industries into it is a no-no, since it's way too powerful even now to try and butcher without wrecking part of the economy. Believe me, they can't use the upset right now. Between that and the footage, it leaves little for them to focus on."

"I'm working on another possibility right now. A broader assault," Peter broke in. "It's a little ways from high school chemistry and physics, but the principle's the same, right? Action and reaction, and it's all about the catalysts. In this case, you."

Tony rolled his eyes. "That sounded downright snooty, Peter. Humility suits a rookie. Be glad I don't have you getting me coffee all day," he muttered as he caught Rhodey's dumbfounded look, who had clearly forgotten the teen was there. "Yeah, Pete does know about me and my suit, and a bunch of other things," he admitted casually. "It's a long story, it involves bridges and mutual acquaintances, and no shortage of bad science puns. With Banner off with his girl, and Harry trotting back to jolly old England, I needed someone with intellect to bounce ideas off of."

Rhodey rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Whatever you say. I'm just telling you, you're making yourself a bigger target with this crap. You don't want the army as your enemy."

"Don't I?" Tony asked glibly. "Don't worry. Just to make sure they won't do anything funny, I'll be doing something new tonight, to get a little public attention and goodwill. I've arranged for an interesting announcement. Something suitably hush-hush."

"...What is it?"

Tony smiled. "Stark Industries will announce a new joint project that will basically catapult us into the mainstream again. It'll short-circuit any dirt that the army might have on me. Nobody cares about drinking habits when you're being awesomely badass."

"What did you do?" Rhodey sounded like he had given up.

"I put a little plan together while I was out of commission. I called on a few favours from a friend, in exchange for a few of my own." Tony shrugged easily. "The people who are trying to put me out of business are the same types that want corporations in power, and I'm going to show the ultimate example of private business excelling where governments fail. Between public favour and that, the court will practically be eating out of my hand. Defence won't be able to touch me. Tonight, Repulsor technology makes a giant leap." He pointed up, smiling broadly.

"A giant -" Rhodey blanched. "Oh, you're kidding."

Tony grinned. "I don't think I am."

* * *

"Lady Sif. It is good to see you in these halls," Volstagg said, blinking.

"Just Sif, please. This isn't the first time we meet," she snapped irritably, slipping down beside him on a bench as she grabbed a bread and savagely tore into it. " _Again,_ I was denied! I have offered my very blade, a masterpiece of Asgardian engineering unparalleled in recent centuries, and he has the  _gall-"_ She swallowed, staring down at her plate angrily. "He refuses to hear me, I believe. He thinks I have been corrupted by my time on Midgard." She snorted.

"Is this about the Seidmadr kid?" Volstagg asked, frowning. "You're still on about that? Let him be. Midgard's large enough for him. 'S not like he cared to come here in the first place." He snorted. "Honestly,  _humans._ Don't know what you see in the weaklings."

"I vowed to return to Midgard," Sif said sharply. "I gave my word! I cannot sit idly by in Asgard as the last Seidmadr's home comes under siege. I would never be able to forgive myself if I were to commit such treachery." She sighed. "There are heroes even in the mortal realms, even if Asgard prefers not to think on the matter. I gave Harry my dagger, Volstagg."

The red-bearded Asgardian sputtered, smacking himself on the chest as he coughed, dislodging a piece of ham. "You?  _You gave him one of your weapons?_ Not even  _Thor-"_

"That is because Thor is a numbskull," Sif responded immediately. "I told Harry that I would be there to retrieve it, a promise I intend to hold myself to. Indeed, if it had not been for the All-Father's insistence to close the bridge, I would have already been there again, after I arranged matters here." She frowned. "Midgard is changing, Volstagg. It's not the same place that we remember, the same place from the stories of old. The people who were near-savages then, are now building machines that can stand up to an Asgardian's might, or surpass it, and their geniuses far outshine ours, as we have grown complacent in our superiority. I have seen men who make themselves into weapons, and then use that might not for conquest, but for honourable purposes. It is  _remarkable."_

"So? What do you want to do about it?" the sizable Asgardian asked, shrugging. "The gate's closed. Even if your Midgard friends were bothered by your absence, there's not a lot to do about it. I'm sure they'd understand that even you follow orders."

Sif grimaced. "Knowing the All-Father, it will remain closed for years. Few will miss the Bifrost in these days, as they no longer travel to the distant worlds. What would we do among Frost Giants or Dark Elves except seek violence and bloodshed? No, I will find another way, if I must. Asgardians travelled before there was a Bifrost; that way must remain."

"Ask Loki," Volstagg suggested softly. "Don't speak so loudly about these things. They could be seen as seditious."

"Prince Loki..." Sif said, frowning. "You know his somewhat dubious reputation, despite his high standing." She sighed. "Perhaps the price for his assistance is worth it, though with the Bifrost closed, he would want a high bounty, and I have little to give. If my sword cannot sway the All-Father into accepting my dedication, then it shall certainly not affect Loki's whims."

"I don't know anyone else who could help," Volstagg admitted. "With the crowning so very close, few would dare to go against the new edict. You'd end up in the stockades, or worse."

Sif looked away, biting her lip. "It seems there is no easy answer to this troubling matter." She took another piece of bread and stood up. "Thank you nevertheless, for hearing me out. I suppose I will return to my chambers, and consider what can be done. Good evening."

She left, and Volstagg leaned back, frowning. "You heard all that, didn't you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over his shoulder. "What were you doing, hiding back there? It's not like you to sneak around."

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped out from behind the wall, his golden-blond locks obscuring his narrowed eyes as he gazed after her. "The Lady Sif has not said a word to me since her return, and yet she speaks of an earthling as if he is an equal. It is improper, even if he is of the old folk. Volstagg, keep matters to yourself. I have a brother to find."

"As you say, Prince Thor." Volstagg swigged down a large ale, and burped. "But I swear, this means trouble, big trouble..."

* * *

Harry glanced up to his hand, pressed against the door, as the wood warmed up under his fingers. He had to cut back a yell of surprise when it turned a lush brown without a single word on his part, and the whole door seemed to fill with heat and life. The wood began to grow, to revive, and the rot disappeared into nothingness. Long cracks that had worked their way through in the many years since it had last been opened were fusing together again, and colour flowed back. Stones brightened, losing years of soot and dust. Then the doors swung open very slowly.

"Well, that took you long enough," Loki muttered, peering into the darkness.

"It's still here!" Harry whispered to himself in awe, as he stared at the patch of living material in the middle of a decayed ruin, as well as the dusty entrance hall that was visible inside, far too large for the remnants of the castle to contain. It was then that he realized what he was looking at, what had fooled him so thoroughly.

In his own world, Muggles only ever saw a dead ruin when they visited Hogwarts. Instead of the magical school, they would see a destroyed castle that was uninviting and seemed ready to collapse at any moment. Harry realized now that he had been seeing the same here, had even believed it to be the case. The spell had been affecting him, even though he was a wizard, and only now did it let him in, when he spurned the warnings and used his magic on the door. This had to be the last defence of Hogwarts. The inhabitants had locked themselves away from the world.

For centuries, Hogwarts had been here, dormant, a last refuge for wizardry hidden from prying eyes by the same magic that protected it in his own world, but broadened to include everyone. Except there were no more wizards to seek sanctuary, and it vanished into obscurity. Perhaps the castle itself had become paranoid about intruders and visitors, closing its doors to all but those who had built it, mournfully concluding that there would be no new students.

"Remarkable," Loki said slowly. "It was perfectly hidden. Until mere moments ago, I did not even suspect that this place was alive at all." The Asgardian gestured inside, raising an eyebrow. "Come now, this is not where your bravery ends, is it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're annoying, you know that?" he muttered, slipping his wand out of his pocket as he lit it with a word. He stepped into the entrance hall as the doors closed behind him with a soft squeak, raising his hand as he moved into the entrance hall with some trepidation. The torches on the walls had long since burned out, and the windows were broken or covered in soot, so there was little to illuminate anything except the pitiful shine of his  _Lumos._ The stone floor was mostly bare, though some remnants of ancient tapestries still adorned the walls.

A dark shape was stretched across the hall about thirty meters in, and Harry jerked back when he recognized what he was looking at: It was a man, or what was left of one. Stretched out on the ground with his arm to the side, his flesh long since gone, were the skeletal remains of some ancient warrior. Clutched in his hand was a broken sword - a very familiar sword.

"It's... Godric Gryffindor," Harry said in a strangled tone as he raised his wand, focusing intently. " _Incendio."_ Sputtering, torches burst alight, one after the other. The entrance hall slowly became illuminated by the flickering fires, and Harry could see more bodies, dozens of them, huddled against the walls or against each other. Gryffindor was in front of six others, three of them small enough to be from children. They had been students.

"So, the enemy got in," Harry observed slowly. "Gryffindor fought them to his death, though I guess the enemy took their corpses with them." He shook his head. "If the killers invaded this place, then I know what we'll see in the rest of the castle."

Harry closed his eyes. There was no scent of blood or death left, since it was so long ago that these people had died, but he felt as if there should be. He knew what he would find in the rest of the castle. Piles of bodies, including students, in every nook and cranny. This was what happened to Hogwarts, this was what the end of wizard-kind looked like. In the death throes of magic itself, Hogwarts had turned from a place of learning into something else. It had become a forgotten tomb, an unmarked grave.

Harry bent down to study Gryffindor's sword, and the hilt slipped easily from its owner's brittle remains, clattering to the floor. It had been left behind by the enemy, even though Harry could feel the warm hum of magic that coursed through it, even now. Perhaps he should shut the gates of Hogwarts, he considered, and never return to this godforsaken place again. He knew he was the only wizard around, and a magical artefact like this would go to waste, fading away in some lost castle - but it seemed like desecration to take what was not his. Still, his conscience kept reminding him that he had used the sword before, and it was always meant to go to those who would have the courage to use it. He hardly thought this was where Gryffindor had intended it to end up.

The door closed with a soft thump behind him as Harry straightened. Loki narrowed his eyes. "Something stirs in the air," he said slowly. "It is a foul thing."

"There's a lot of death here," Harry said as he shrugged half-heartedly. "Whatever killed him, there's no way to tell who it was from just this. No wounds to see, no weapons to find. He could have died from the Killing Curse, even, there's no way to know."

Loki hissed under his breath, raising a hand and gesturing for silence. "Not a smell - can you not feel it?"

Harry paused - as he did, there was a sudden silence, as if the world held its breath. The slight draft that he had felt before did not so much die down as stop - as did the wind outside. In an instant, Harry was upright and tense, his wand raised as the torches' flickering flames roamed across the hall, eerily illuminating abandoned hallways and little rooms. Harry felt suddenly queasy, realizing that something indeed felt off, as if everything had shifted ever so slightly, and he nodded warily to Loki. The windows were still darkened, but it was a malevolent black now, far more final than before. It felt as if haunting eyes were gazing in, their hungering smiles almost visible, even as the perfect lack remained.

"What..." He swallowed, the word dying on his dry lips. It seemed suddenly very unwise to disturb the silence. Harry shuddered involuntarily, and paled. He knew the hall had not actually changed, but it seemed distorted, different - though he could not tell how. He turned to Loki, who glanced around with a curious expression, seemingly equally unwilling to break the silence, even if his voice was more in Harry's head then actually real.

The temperature dropped suddenly, or so it seemed, and Harry felt a spike of intense loneliness, as if he had been trapped inside his old cupboard for a week, even as he knew full-well that it was not true. He cringed involuntarily, focusing on Loki to remind himself that there was someone else present, that there was no reason to panic - it helped that the Asgardian seemed entirely at rest. A tremor ran down his back as loneliness made way for fear - he quite suddenly realized that he was the sole living thing in a castle full of corpses, and they surrounded him. A sharp terror tried to grab hold, and then a sudden anger, a hate that ignited in his gut, intent on ripping apart the ones responsible for what happened here.

Finally, he let out a whimper - pathetic and weak. It was enough, however - Loki turned to him, his eyes suddenly sharp as knives as he reached out and something  _twisted._ "Harry Potter," he spoke. " _Focus._ "

From one moment to the next, with no transition whatsoever, Harry stumbled in place as fear and hate evaporated into nothingness - and he suddenly felt incredibly foolish. He licked his lips, finding them raw and cracked, as if he had not spoken in days, as if he had barely breathed. "What..." he said, and this time the word came out as it should, and relief washed over him. "...You would know that name, wouldn't you?" he finally said, and he chuckled slightly, relishing in it.

"Focus," Loki repeated sharply. "I am - not influenced by this place, as you are. Clearly. I believe I have determined what this place is, however." He turned slightly. "See for yourself," the Asgardian said, gesturing to the door. "Go on. They will leave you be for the moment, now that you have spurned their grasp."

Harry reluctantly stepped over, ignoring the icy terror creeping up on him once more, and it vanished. He wondered if the place was haunted in a different way than he was used to - perhaps the ghosts were so far gone that he could no longer see them, or Dementors were roaming the halls. He grabbed the iron rings on the doors, and pulled with one sharp movement. The doors opened effortlessly.

There was only inky, roiling blackness on the other side. It seemed so  _utterly wrong_ that it felt like an ocean of grief was trying to undulate through the opening and empty into the entrance hall. It seemed almost like it was kept at bay by the wafer-thin enchantments upon the building, and Harry leaned back involuntarily, teeth chattering. The blackness seemed to reach out, and Harry could have sworn he heard skittering little hands claw at the edges of  _it_. Something shifted in the deep, impossibly enormous and yet so very close that he flinched, and slammed the doors closed again.

It took him a long, terrifying minute to gather his breath.

"My hunch was correct, then," Loki murmured. "The darkness did feel familiarly pressing, and its effects on the unprepared mind... Well, you would know."

Harry turned to the Asgardian as he rubbed his eyes, shuddering. "We're trapped." He glanced uncomfortably down the hall, to the corpse of Godric Gryffindor, and for an instant he was convinced that the skeleton would rise up as an Inferi, drawing its blade on the new arrival. "What the  _bloody hell_  is that, out there?"

"Not what," Loki chided. " _Where_. Suffice to say it is somewhere else." He shook his head, eyes darkened. "Your people did what few others dare, it seems. When you entered the castle, you stepped into an echo, a thin membrane covering a  _hole_  in what was supposed to be. It was as if the place existed in two places at once. When the illusion ensnared you, however, that covering vanished - and you came here, to the place that should exist, but doesn't."

"We were transported," Harry concluded, clasping his wand tightly in his hand. "When the doors closed - it felt a little like a Portkey, but I barely even thought about it at all... How?" He frowned, turning his worried eyes back to the door. "It feels... cold, even now. Dead, and yet moving, shifting. It's like emotions are still trapped here, even without people to feel them." He shivered. "When you say  _somewhere else -_ "

"Chaos," Loki supplied, and his sharp eyes betrayed discomfort for a moment. "Out there is the kingdom of gibbering madmen, a realm far removed from any others within Yggdrasil, where none have dared to tread since ages long past, and it attempted to ensnare you. These black lands are no-man's land, a battlefield from forgotten wars. Indeed, it is said that even the gods hesitate to set foot here, since it claws even at their souls. Nobody would go voluntarily.  _Nobody."_

Harry was silent for a time. Finally, he spoke. " _Nobody_ , you claim. Except, perhaps, if the traveller decides on it in a moment of desperation?" Harry swallowed thickly. "Like the impending genocide of your kind, perhaps?"

Loki considered the idea for a long moment, then nodded. "These Seidhr knew their last hours had come, and might not have wanted to give the enemy the satisfaction of success. Instead of transporting the castle itself, which would be a greater feat still, they took only that which they needed. The  _inside_ of the castle, stripped of its dimensional moors." He grimaced. "They shifted their home, and themselves, into the black lands. Perhaps to hide until their enemy retreated, perhaps to find a new home. It was foolish, far more than they could have imagined."

"Doesn't look like they made it back," Harry murmured softly, and Loki grunted in assent. "This was a last stand," he added as he glanced at the corpse of Godric Gryffindor again. "It is the way that he would choose to die, isn't it? Right at the front gate, sword in hand, until the end came. Like he knew it was coming. The others - cowering by the walls, not running away. Like they knew that there was nowhere to run to."

"They must have been aware of his fate," Loki agreed, leaning down, his spindly fingers touching the decaying skull of Gryffindor. "This man is nothing but bones, now. A millennium has passed - his soul would have found its way out, even from a place as void and pitiless as this."

There was a sound, then, a rumble from afar. Harry glanced to Loki, and grimaced at the dismayed expression on the Asgardian's face. "Time to leave," Harry said, and he turned on the spot without a second thought. The world twisted momentarily, and strange colours and unsightly shapes shifting before his eyes, before he landed back at the same spot he had left, and he collapsed. He heaved, then vomited onto the floor as the world failed to stop flailing wildly in all directions. The disgusting scent of half-digested dumplings overtook everything.

"Lovely," Loki said with a sneer. "Just because I am a figment does not mean I cannot smell," he added as he scrunched up his nose. "What filthy things do you humans  _eat?_ "

Harry vanished the mess as he cradled his head with his hand. "It's like it's not even there!" he exclaimed. "I bounced back - I  _bounced!_ " He shivered, rinsing out his mouth for good measure. "There's no anti-apparition protections, I think. Just  _nothing._ _"_ He frowned. "Hold on, I still have my eyebrows, right? Last time someone got apparition wrong in here..."

"Humans," Loki muttered disdainfully.

"Pardon me for not panicking," Harry snapped, and then he shivered - and he was suddenly convinced someone was watching him. It was not Loki, but something far more malicious, malevolent. He glanced around with worried eyes. "There's something else in here with us," he said, hand clasped around the Elder Wand tightly. Gingerly, Harry leaned over and picked up the handle of Gryffindor's sword, just in case. Warmth flowed from it, ancient magic that had remained undiluted by the centuries, a testament to Goblin craftsmanship. This founder had not apparated away, but faced whatever had killed him, and Harry was uncomfortably aware that whatever that was, it might still be around, to pick off the latest flies that walked into its web.

"That will do you little good," Loki said dismissively.

"Watch me," Harry replied easily. Raising the Elder Wand, Harry reverently put its tip at the base of the hilt, and spoke commandingly. " _Reparo."_

Shards shot from every direction, large and small, swirling together with what seemed like dust - the ancient remains of a tassel that had long decayed. Fusing itself back together, the blade took shape, its gleam undiminished even as Harry could sense the magic return to the deadened remnants, the goblin metalworking reinvigorated. The very air seemed to spark with joy as the spell finished.

The sword felt heavy in his hand - but it was a familiar weight.

"And you say your magic cannot bring back the dead," Loki muttered, eyes narrowed at the shining blade. "Semantics."

Harry ignored the comment, or the eerie sensation of watching eyes, brandishing sword and wand together. A high-pitched, screeching noise erupted from beyond the door to the  _outside_ , and he whirled to face it - A mournful wail followed, and it skittered across the skin like nails on chalkboard, unambiguously feral, wild.  _A_ _live._

"There's chaos out there, you said," Harry noted. "Does this Chaos have teeth?"

Loki sighed. "There are reasons why none come to these parts," he observed dryly. "There is nothingness beyond this place, a state of existence that by its very nature attacks that which does exist - chaos. Here, on the edge of existence and its opposite, there are Haven't-Beens and Neverweres, wallowing their state of being, grasping desperately for reality."

"The monsters want food. Which would be us," Harry concluded blandly, as a shiver ran down his back. "Appetizers to the latest creature on the block, how wonderful. How do we fight them?"

The laugh of what might have been a hyena echoed from beyond, interrupted midway through by a gargling howl that made Harry's hair stand on end. Ripping sounds followed, like claws gouging into stone, or into petrified wood. The door moved, ever so slightly, as if a great weight was pressed upon it from the other side. Something long and black slipped through the cracks, a lash of ghastly thorns and spikes and a single, pupil-less eye that stared balefully.

"We don't," Loki snapped in response. "Why are you loitering here?  _Go._ "

"I can slow them down," Harry said sharply. " _Colloportus!"_ The door closed with a vicious clang as the thorned tentacle was severed. A pained screech resounded as the detached remnant twitched; before Harry's eyes it righted itself on spindly legs that seemed to extrude from all its sides, clawed or tipped in vicious barbs. Slowly, the thing got itself upright, its single eye suddenly ringed with monstrous teeth, serrated and dripping with acid that sizzled on the floor. It let out a gurgling that almost sounded like a deranged laugh.

"Cute," Harry said, deadpan. "It's not quite a Blast-Ended Skrewt, but you don't suppose I could take it to Hagrid?" He smirked at Loki's incredulous expression. "Never mind..."

"Do you have a  _death wish?_ " Loki inquired.

Harry glanced aside, blinking. "Sometimes I wonder." He backed off from the shambling creature, through a pair of double doors and into the next hallway, towards the Great Hall. The thing skittered closer, its asymmetrical shape doing little to help its awkward movement, and it slipped and slided on the smooth stone. Before it could get close enough, and it was quite desperately clawing its way forward to reach him, Harry locked the next set of doors as well, and charmed them with the Elder Wand to remain firmly closed. A squelching sound resounded, then silence.

Harry sighed, relieved, as he glanced at Gryffindor's sword. He was fairly certain that something that clumsy was not going to break through the doors, even if its nastier brethren might, but the sword would at least make for an effective weapon, should his magic fail - in his experience, swords worked quite effectively on a lot of things.

"The creature will break through in time," Loki observed. "With every passing moment, it becomes more real, infused with purpose - and more dangerous." He scowled. "The spirit of chaos lies heavily on this place."

"Then we'd better find a way out before it gets to me," Harry agreed. "...Speaking of which, how do I get out?"

Loki shrugged helplessly.

"Fat lot of good you are." Harry rolled his eyes. "There's more exits than the front gate - I imagine it's the best guarded of the bunch, too. There's a whole bunch of secret passages that might still exist. I think I'll go for those first. Maybe the one to Honeydukes - if it is where I remember." He frowned. "I don't suppose a Portkey would work - unless I had a target I could actually get to, it would just bounce like apparition, I imagine..." He slipped a hand into his bag, and scowled at his cell phone. "No range, either - figures."

"I would advise haste." Loki glanced back to the door - there was an odd clicking sound from afar. Thankfully, it would take the creature a while to gnaw through a huge wooden door like this, especially one properly charmed with all sorts of protections.

"Right," Harry agreed, raising his wand and illuminating the darkened hallway. Something that seemed almost like plastic was stretched most of the way across the corridor, and right into the Great Hall - a long and thin white filament. "What is this stuff?" he muttered and he reached out, frowning. The texture was rough, almost sharp to the touch. Recognition itched at the edge of his mind. He had seen something like this before, in Hogwarts. It was almost like the...

"Fuck me," he breathed, jerking his hand back from the huge sloughed-off skin, clasping it painfully around the hilt of Gryffindor's sword as he fetched his invisibility cloak.

"The  _Basilisk_  is loose!"

* * *

The bridge was silent, though it was hard to say that things were calmer than usual. Alerts kept coming in, but there were too few people to respond to them all with more than a casual look. A dozen Quinjets had already left for a number of places, and all of them seemed like potential trouble. In the wake of the Avengers Initiative's first outing, everything might turn out to be important. Fury picked up his phone impatiently, eyes fixed on his screen. "Report."

_"_ _Director_ _, I have a status update. And it's a biggie."_

He turned, his eyes roving over the bridge as he tapped his earpiece. "Coulson? Is that you?"

"Yes,  _I guess I'll just say it, sir... We found him."_

Fury straightened. "You're sure?"

_"They're cutting him out now, sir. Still wearing the uniform. You're not going to believe this, but our doctor, she says he might still be alive in there!"_

"Alive?" Fury smiled, and he noted with interest the lack of surprise he felt. " _Really_  now? That's interesting..." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I will have Miss Hill set up appropriate quarters, and you can get all the medical staff you need. Transport will arrive as soon as possible." He muttered to himself. "I'll get Barton and Romanoff on the case."

" _I'm sorry, what was that in the middle there? It's quite loud out here_ _..._ _"_

Fury hung up, smirking. "He's just in time," he murmured. "What's a platoon without a Captain?"


	31. Riddles in the Dark

Sometimes, Harry really hated his luck.

Visions of second year in Hogwarts pressed in on him as he stared at the shed skins that covered the floor. The walls of Hogwarts had been scraped bare by the owner of that skin, and a path of destruction had been carved through the Great Hall that lay just beyond, huge gouges and cracks visible in every direction even by the wavering light of his wand. He couldn't help but think of dank tunnels, the wicked smile of Tom Riddle, and the still body of Ginny on the floor. A shiver ran down his back, from revulsion more than the chilly cold. This place brought back bad, nearly forgotten memories - ones that he'd left behind him long ago.

This wasn't what he'd hoped to find. Truthfully, Harry had thought that by coming back to Hogwarts, he could discover what had happened in that ancient cataclysm which nobody quite knew how to explain; he hadn't anticipated monster snakes and tomb-like halls littered with remains. The all too familiar castle had mummified in the absence of inhabitants, and only a last few feeble spells were holding off the rot. Memories of ancient wizards and their demise infused the very air with a distant sorrow, as if they had never quite been able to leave, as if some part of them had been left behind to suffer. It was a chilling sensation, and a foreboding one. A thousand years had passed, here, but Harry had no illusions that the skins around him were anywhere close to that age. This place wasn't dead - not yet.

Treading into the Great Hall was like entering a mausoleum, even if grotesque life still twitched in these abandoned remains. Through the empty halls and tunnels crept the mother of all killers, an enemy that he'd hoped never to face again. The Basilisk was a terrifying nightmare from his early years, a ghastly image that seemed to loom impossibly tall in his memories, colored as they were by exhaustion and the imminence of certain death. This time around, there would be no sorting hat to help him, no Phoenix to come to his aid. He only had that cold steel which had struck the lethal blow once before. That, and his wits.

Gripping the hilt of Gryffindor's sword tightly, Harry took a moment to focus, forcing himself to ignore the edge of fear that tried to creep in. More than a few choice curses, verbal and otherwise, hung on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to control himself. The last time he'd come to Hogwarts, he'd said his goodbyes. He'd left the place in capable hands, back in another world. This was not  _his_ Hogwarts, and he had to remember that. This was - a twisted reflection. The mantra did rather little to settle his nerves.

Taking a deep breath, he considered the last time he'd faced the creature, and the twinge of fear in his gut gave way for a determination that ran far deeper, that had been there since the day he'd struck down Voldemort for the last time. He'd been  _victorious_ \- he could be so again, should the need arise. Gryffindor's sword had served him well before against this threat, and he had relied merely on luck, then. Right now, he had a dearth of that - but he was no innocent schoolboy anymore, either.

Loki, utterly unconcerned by Harry's morose thoughts, strolled lazily into the Great Hall, his cloak slipping through the debris unhindered as a testament to how insubstantial he really was. The Asgardian strode around with his hands folded behind him, sniffing in derision at centuries of grime and dust, shaking his head in mock disappointment. There was something utterly ridiculous about the sight, and Harry couldn't help feeling cheered up by it. He wondered briefly if Loki would be offended at a comparison with Severus Snape, whom he recalled rather more fondly than that man would probably have been comfortable with. The two of them certainly shared the same sneer.

"This place… is disgusting," Loki said at last with an expression of disgust, unwittingly reaffirming the comparison.

"I wouldn't judge on that so quickly," Harry remarked as he made his way to Loki's side. His initial shock at the Basilisk's survival had faded to a dull weariness that he could not really pin down. Musing about the sheer destruction that had taken place in the hall, he rubbed his chin. "This place could use a good cleaning, I admit. It's seen better days than these."

"Well, I would hope so," Loki said. "And yet, even after a thousand years of decay, the food remains warm. Such peculiar priorities..." he added curiously as he leaned down besides a broken table, its jagged, rotting wood covered in a thick layer of dust. The Asgardian hovered a ghostly hand over the plates that were wedged in between, gleaming in the glare of Harry's lighted wand. Scraps of bread that remained on them appeared as if they were still fresh, a half-filled cup of soup still steaming a little after centuries - however it had kept from evaporating was anyone's guess.

"That's nice - but we've got rather bigger things to worry about than preservation charms," Harry murmured dryly as he lost interest.

"Well,  _you_  do, perhaps," Loki responded mockingly as he rose to his full height, cocking his head to the side. "For you, this is a life-and-death encounter within a demon-haunted castle. For me - it's is merely a  _guided tour_." The Asgardian grinned. "I am a projection - pardon me if I take a moment to take in the scenery. It's unlikely I will have another chance. One way or another."

Harry refrained from taking the bait. "So, a tour, huh? Except the guide is liable to get eaten in this one," he noted wryly as he gestured around with his lit wand, tall shadows creeping through the remnants of the hall. The pillars along the walls still stood and kept the roof up, but that was about all that could be said of the place. Thick stone had crumbled, and the hall's contents had been torn to splinters or wrecked beyond repair. The eerie pitch-black nothingness that threatened to slip in was pressed up against tall windows that dotted the hall, robbing it of any natural light. It was no wonder that the snake liked this place. It was as if the whole castle was a hundred miles underground.

"You're going to be eaten, huh? Such fatalism. Come now, where is your lauded spirit of adventure?" Loki's cloak swished dramatically as he turned and thrust out his arms. "Far be it for me to criticize your priorities, but have you no curiosity?"

"It killed the cat - or petrified it," Harry muttered, peering up into the darkness. The enchantments on the roof still held, but there was only an oppressive nothingness to be seen, an eternal starless night. He frowned in sudden realization as he considered Loki's words. "Come to think of it, though, curiosity's how half my misadventures get started. Maybe I should learn to take my own advice sometime."

"That is an idea," Loki agreed as he walked over to the wreckage of a silver chandelier that was covered in shed scales, glancing over his shoulder. "This place - you have seen it before, correct? You spoke of the King of Serpents in rather familiar terms. Such a mighty creature, locked away where nothing could find it..."

Harry frowned, trying to ignore the mental image of Loki and Hagrid sharing firelight stories about giant venomous creatures that would gladly tear off their heads. "It's a  _monster._ You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Loki inquired slyly. "There is a certain  _wonder_ to discovering even a monster, isn't there?"

Harry sighed. "If by 'wonder' you mean  _incredibly lethal danger,_ you're definitely on the right track," he said, adjusting his invisibility cloak. He reluctantly closed it with the brooch that carried the Resurrection Stone, hiding the glittering object under the folds of fabric until his whole body seemed scarcely more than a shadow.

It felt odd to put the Hallows on display like that, now that he'd come to associate them with his rather overt escapades with Tony and S.H.I.E.L.D. - but they would come in handy. They felt like part of a uniform, now - and he'd never cared much for those, any more than he liked titles. And yet - here he was, earning new ones. Magician was a remarkably simple moniker compared to nonsense like 'Boy-Who-Lived', and he might as well have been called 'Wizard' for all its blandness. But that was the one reason why Harry sort of liked it. In this place, he wasn't just  _a_ magician, or  _a_ wizard. As far as the world was concerned, he was  _it_.  _The_ magician.  _The_ wizard. The definite article, accept no substitutes. If even Odin, God of Asgard, whom Sif considered effectively almighty, couldn't find a trace of wizards on Earth - well, who was  _he_ to disagree?

One hell of a vacation this was turning out be - and it had started so uncomplicated, so utterly benign. If he'd never gone out to wander the desert, he might not have met the local miracle workers at all, and he could have slipped into relative obscurity, spending his days on the beach or travelling the world. As usual, though, he'd found himself entangled with all sorts of trouble of the world-threatening variety, and with people that were every bit as weird as himself, if not more so. He'd gone across universes, stepped from one Earth to a rather different one, and yet he found himself doing the same things again - playing the wizard savior,  _again_. Fighting the Basilisk,  _again_.

Destiny wasn't being nearly as subtle this time around.

"My, I didn't think my words would garner such introspection," Loki noted with some bemusement.

Harry shook his head slowly. "It's nothing. Just thinking about death, destiny, the end of the world - all the usual stuff," he replied, exasperated. "It's distressing how familiar this kind of thing really is, now that I think about it..."

Maybe fate had it in for him, Harry decided, but that didn't mean he had to take it lying down. He wasn't the same brat that had faced the Basilisk in second year. He wasn't among allies, now, either - he was alone, only haunted by a specter of a being that could hardly be called human. Here in Hogwarts, he could shake any pretense of normalcy that he'd kept up for appearances. There was a vague sense of unease at the thought of owning up to the kind of person he'd been in the other world, a hesitance that was the product of common sense and discipline. He'd slipped up before, shown some of his cards, but he'd never admitted the whole truth. The only ones who had even an inkling, Tony and Bruce, would hardly spread it around. And Loki - he was least likely of all to spread the word, since he  _needed_ Harry to further his goals.

Lifting his wand to illuminate the wide lane of destruction that had been torn through the center of the hall, Harry studied the rough edges of a massive hole in the sidewall that was easily twice a man's height. The Basilisk's undulations had slammed through solid, enchanted stones there to make an entrance, and the scale of the damage suggested that the beast was at least twice again as big as he remembered.

That could be a problem.

"This is going to be  _fun_ ," Harry drawled slowly as he brandished Gryffindor's sword once more, wishing that he'd been trained in its use beyond the barest of basics. "I stabbed the last Basilisk to death with something like this, so I guess it works out…"

Loki honed in on those words like a bloodhound, as Harry had expected. "You slew such a beast with a sword?" he hummed appreciatively. "Killing the King of Serpents in single combat - my brother would surely be jealous if he heard of such a mighty feat!"

"To be fair, it almost killed me at the same time," Harry amended ruefully, rubbing his arm where he'd been pierced by the creature's fang, the scar itching under his touch. "I was twelve years old then, so I blame that on my age."

The Asgardian stared incredulously, then sighed as he massaged his forehead with his hand. " _Twelve_  years old? My brother will not just be jealous, he would demand a grand retelling of the tale to all his drunken compatriots." He rolled his eyes. "And here I imagined the Seidhr to be  _intelligent_ and  _sophisticated._ I should have expected this... _"_

Harry shrugged helplessly. "Some of us are -  _were -_  as you say. I have a friend that certainly counts." He gestured to the hole, his slight cheer making way again for worry. "The last snake was a lot smaller than this one - what the hell has it been eating to get so bloody huge, anyway?"

At that moment, an eerie noise of nails scraping across wood erupted from behind, scratching at the door that Harry had so thoroughly locked and protected. The shadowy creature from the outside still clawed impotently across the surface, trying to follow. They seemed to have become more frantic than before, more insistent, teeth grinding like stone on stone.

Loki lazily looked at Harry without even blinking.

"Right. I should've thought of that," Harry remarked dully. "Nothing says snack food like the writhing embodiments of chaos."

"The serpent has been feeding on demon-spawn." The Asgardian paced slowly across the hall, peering down the huge hole that had been carved into it. "The creatures are becoming more and more persistent," he warned. "Our shambling pursuers might well draw out their hunter." The man grinned momentarily. "I admit, I'd very much like to see such a confrontation. It has been a very long time since I last tussled with a beast as great as this one - Jormungändr's spirit still lives on, it seems."

"The World Serpent, huh?" Harry recognized from Sif's stories. "Well - Jormy's got  _me_ on the menu, so I hope you don't mind me missing the party," Harry replied as he rolled his eyes. Staying in this hall wasn't an option, nor was turning back. With much of the castle filled with debris and collapsed hallways, the number of possible exits shrank quickly. There was only a single obvious way to go from where he was, and the huge ragged hole of the Basilisk's tunnel was hardly inviting. He knew exactly what he'd find on the other end. "Don't tell me," he said at last, closing his eyes. "The only way out of here is  _down,_ isn't it? _"_

"Considering the alternatives?" Loki mused. "Likely true."

"Brilliant." Harry rubbed his forehead. "Let me think…" He paced back and forth slowly, eyes downcast. "With all the main exits obviously guarded by those creatures, they're definitely not our way out. I rather doubt that the inner courtyards are any less affected." He paused. "Wait - you mentioned that only the  _interior_ of Hogwarts has been moved, right? The spell doesn't affect the outside?"

"Yes, " the Asgardian said after a long moment, cocking his head to the side curiously. "And...?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, what if there's places inside the castle whose inside  _hasn't_ been taken?" The wizard paced slowly. "Hogwarts has always been known for having lots of secret passages and tunnels. You know what I'm getting at, here? If even one of those is still open..."

"You are suggesting there might be a passageway," Loki concluded tentatively.

"Maybe. But the Founders built this place, so it can't be a very well-known one," Harry observed. "I imagine they'd know about all the secret routes in and out. Especially Ravenclaw, who's said to have designed most of this place."

"Is it not curious, then, that these people chose to lock themselves in?" Loki murmured after a moment. "Certainly the border between the outside and inside is unforgiving now - but only in one direction. Perhaps the opposite direction of the one that was originally intended." He gestured grandly at the ceiling. "Or perhaps, in the dying moments of your kind, after even their last fortress was breached, they chose to take along their enemy into death."

It made a disturbing amount of sense. "The Founders turned the castle into a trap," Harry breathed.

"Most likely. The last revenge of the Seidhr," Loki said lightly.

"Gryffindor was killed on the doorstep. Whoever attacked had already breached the defenses," Harry observed. "Even their last hope failed them." He shivered involuntarily. "The enemy tore through the castle while it was displaced. Then they broke his sword, and they broke  _him…_ "

"And now you wield his weapon," Loki murmured in sudden understanding. "I suppose it was not quite their  _last_ revenge."

"I am the only one who has any claim to this," Harry said tonelessly, staring at the gleaming blade. "The Basilisk was probably set free by Slytherin himself. Most of the wizards must've already been dead, so there was no point in keeping anything back. Far from killing Muggleborns, the snake was just set out to kill anything that was still alive - which is bad news for us." He shook his head, frowning at the thought of the wizards that suffered here, all across the castle, in those last days. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. It's ancient history."

"Well, it's  _interesting_ history," Loki commented peevishly.

Harry didn't answer immediately. He reached deeply into his pouch, pushing away brooms, a wand, and quite a few socks, and grasped onto what he was searching for. With a flourish, he pulled out a yellowed piece of parchment.  _"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"_ he stated as he put its tip onto the parchment. Ink burst out from that spot like dark spider webs, and slowly the halls of Hogwarts formed themselves across its surface. Only one name became visible: two little feet in the middle of the Great Hall, simply labeled 'Harry Potter'.

"A kingly artifact," Loki whispered, his eyes riveted on it. "Is it a perfect map?"

"Pretty much. Call it a family heirloom," Harry responded, brushing his hand over the parchment as he followed the few intact hallways, searching for a way out. He had no idea how the object's magic actually worked, beyond the most superficial of qualities, but at least it hadn't wiped itself clean utterly. "The odds of finding a way out on this are pretty slim, but I've got to check one of the secret entrances at least. Best I can tell, there aren't many staircases still standing, so going up would be quite a hassle. It's not like any of the towers remain, I'm sure. So, down it is."

"So, you will clamber in the dirt. Joy," Loki deadpanned.

Harry glanced down the hole that the Basilisk had made, eyeing the long ruinous path that led downwards through several floors. Even with the Map, there was no telling where it would ultimately end up, though there was an obvious answer that was rather terrifying to contemplate. If there were no secret passages to access on the way down, only one spot would remain that could technically count as  _outside_ at all _-_ and an icy feeling of foreboding crawled down his back as he considered going all the way to the bottom. To the Chamber of Secrets.

Destiny was having a laugh at his expense.

A thunderous noise interrupted that thought, and tore him out of his musings entirely. It wasn't a particularly loud sound, but the castle had been so silent that the tone echoed through the depths. It was a cracking, groaning, terrible shifting, and it took Harry a long moment to recognize the protests of stressed wood. He was hearing the creaking of a door - a protected, barred, shielded was a snap, a crumbling noise of stone giving way - and then there came a screaming gurgle of malformed voices. Grinding noises of stone on stone punctuated screeches as something impossible heavy crushed against distant walls, and a beast cried out in anguish and hunger.

Definitely hunger.

Harry was barely aware of the moment he reached into his pouch, unclear on what he was doing until he felt the chill in his fingers, the thrill of power unrivalled which streamed into the air around him with a spray of green sparks. The Elder Wand alighted fiercely in his hand, piercing the darkness a bright glow far sharper than that of his phoenix-core wand. Any other time, he might've worried about how the thing had wormed its way into his thoughts and his hand, how it had practically forced itself to be used. But he could hear the demons coming, forcing themselves through his barriers by force. The air filled with static, with the heavy feeling that preceded a thunderstorm. Loki looked on with a startled expression, staring at the Elder Wand with something like reverence.

Harry smiled wearily.

It was time to get to work.

* * *

"New York looks very different these days, you know," Peter said lightly, as he hung from the half-finished structure of the Stark skyscraper by his fingers and toes. Dressed as he was in his Spider-Man costume, that particular pose seemed like a fairly normal one in which to hold a conversation. Admittedly, he had a somewhat skewed view of what normal was all about - seeing the city from the skylines changed your view on a lot of things.

"You think so?" Tony inquired lightly. "Just because of this old place? Watch it, I might get an even bigger head..."

Peter smiled behind his mask, turning ever so slightly sideways to catch sight of the man who was sitting on the edge of the new Stark building's unfinished floor, his legs dangling over the edge in defiance of all safety regulations. His metal exoskeleton had for once been left behind in favor of a rather snappy tuxedo, and the glow of the arc reactor in his chest was dimly visible under his shirt. Stark was, in a word,  _cool._ He seemed to be pretty much exactly as the tabloids described him, which was a small miracle; granted, they said plenty of awful things too - but nobody was perfect.

"I wasn't talking about the building, specifically. You know what I meant, right?" Peter said, trying to put his thoughts in order. "Last month, I was all on my own out here. Pretty much, anyway." He gestured vaguely at the streets below. "There's a few other weirdoes around, but they mostly keep to their own turf. The big bad guys, the names you hear on the news, they all tend to come for me. It's a bit of a nightmare." He shrugged lightly. "I suppose it's because of the Lizard incident - everyone thinks I'm the mark they need to take down to get some reputation. It was getting tiring."

"But now we're here as well," Tony concluded mildly. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is crashing the party."

Peter snorted. "Hey, I'm not complaining. Cavalry riding to the rescue tends to be the coolest part of the movies, and even Spidey could use a bunch of backup, sometimes. I once spent a weekend in bed recovering from a bad fight; any regular person would've been smooshed into the pavement. I was lucky, but I still felt bad that there was nobody around to pick up the slack while I was out."

Tony shrugged. "Right now, it's just me."

Peter stared. "Yeah. But you're freaking  _Iron Man,_ which means you probably count for like - fifteen of the guys that run around down there, if not more _._ " He shook his head in disbelief. "My point stands, I think. And you'll bring a menagerie of super-weirdoes along, sooner or later."

"Flatterer," Tony murmured, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, all this doesn't really have to change anything," he said as he leaned against the girder next to him. "You know that I tend to travel a lot, and I also work outside New York, so there's a pretty good chance that I'll be out of your hair quite a bit. Most of us will be like that, probably. Harry can teleport wherever the hell he wants, and Bruce likes camping trips, so they're pretty mobile too. Beyond that - who knows? Maybe we'll build a clubhouse in the new tower."

"Didn't you say one of your group come from another dimension or something?" Peter wondered dubiously. "That's one hell of a commute."

Tony smirked. "She's a babe, you'll like her. A few of the others are with S.H.I.E.L.D. - so they're probably just hanging out on that flying ship of theirs most of the time. This city's still yours." He sighed. "If anything, this place is going to attract  _more_ nasty folks, since they'll want to come take a swing at us too. It won't exactly be  _safer_." He paused. "Besides, you're practically a member of our little secret club already, so we will probably drag you along to the next shindig."

"...Yay?" Peter wondered.

"Fury's been messaging me about another new recruit that he's bringing along, so that should be fun. Hopefully, another babe." He smiled broadly. "So, how are you enjoying your life as a bona fide hero for hire, anyway?"

"Don't say that. I'm pretty sure that title is copyrighted," Peter warned. "Cage  _will_ beat you up over it. Seriously, I'm not joking."

Tony frowned. "Hmmm. You could go by vigilante?"

"Then I just sound like a villain," Peter muttered. "I annoy Jameson enough as it is."

"...just go with champion or something, then?" Tony tried.

Peter nodded enthusiastically. "That's more like it!" He flipped down to land neatly next to the billionaire, giving him a thumbs up. "You gave me a fancy excuse so I can put on colorful tights and kick asses whenever I want, so I guess I can't whine about what you call me." He shook his head tiredly. "Still can't really wrap my head around it. This is actually my life, now. I'm a  _professional_ webhead."

"And all you needed was a sizable donation. Money does tend to grease the gears," Tony said dryly. "After Harry and Bruce, I can't help pitching in for a hero in need, I guess. It's a pathology." He shook his head mirthfully. "I've turned into such a sop. I'm a weapons manufacturer turned benevolent rich uncle with robot suits..."

Peter snickered. "Again, I'm not complaining."

"Yeah. Plus, you have a brain - that's a nice bonus for any company." He reached into his pocket, retrieving a little grey canister. "Recognize this little thing? I've already got Jarvis on the job for replicating the spider-goo that you use, just in case your usual supply runs dry. Maybe Harry can help out with that too, when he gets back from his siesta in the British rain." He frowned. "As for your outfit - well, I could build you a proper one, I suppose, but I only work with metal and such. I don't really do  _spandex_."

"Heh. Can you imagine me in an Iron Man suit?" Peter wondered lightly. "It would be - awesome. And probably also a really terrible idea, since I'm bad enough with  _cars_ as it is. At least when I'm swinging along with my webs I know what I'm doing."

Tony nodded. "I can guess why you'd be hesitant. Just give me the word, though." He looked away, staring out over the city. "Don't see all this as charity - even if it kind of is. I've been taking in weird super-people for a while now, so it's probably some psychological symptom of how I never dealt with my crappy childhood - or something. Pepper would know." He smirked. "Probably it's for boring reasons. Take advantage of whatever you can get, is what I'm saying, before I turn back into an ass."

"Yeah…" Peter said slowly. "I don't have to actually act like your secretary much, right?" he asked. "Because that thing with Lieutenant Rhodes back there was kind of embarrassing, and since I usually evade the law rather than follow it - well, I'm not the best lawyer."

Tony chuckled easily. "No. No, don't worry. Me and Harry have been discussing a few options about the secret identity thing, and we're working on a way to make sure that those kinds of things  _stay_ secret." He smirked. "Did you know that our wiz can hide an entire  _floor_ without anyone being the wiser? I gave him the thirteenth to use for testing - it seemed fitting. I haven't been able to find it for a month."

Peter nodded slowly. "Right. Him and his freaky  _wizard_ stuff. I suppose after spider-powers, I shouldn't be surprised."

"He's a wizard - he'd got secrets within secrets, I'm sure. Drives Fury up the wall," Tony said with relish. "And you haven't seen anything yet, you know. I haven't even told you that he can read minds, have I?"

"What."

* * *

"Any suggestions?" Harry asked harshly. "Would be helpful!"

"I would suggest going faster," Loki said helpfully as Harry dashed down the corridor, his wand raised with the yellow glow of a spell brimming on its tip before a word had even been spoken. The wizard snapped his wand to the side viciously, and the wall promptly detonated with a thud that shuddered through the air and nearly threw him off his feet. He managed to steady himself with his free hand and get back up before the dust had time to settle, and the solid slabs of stone that descended from the roof could come down to crush him. A second burst detonated behind him, and everything went black as the night.

If the Basilisk had been sleeping, it would certainly be awake now.

"There's still a hole," Harry said as he shivered against a cold draft that wafted down from the collapsed hallway behind him. A tentacle covered in black sores ending with long barbed claws attempted to claw through the hole that had been left behind, its toxic mandibles clicking threateningly from the darkness, gleaming dully in the light of  _Lumos_. It was only one of many thousands of ravenous things that were back there, scaly and hairy and everything in between, crawling over themselves to get through the openings. They were Never-Weres - creatures that evolution had never brought into existence - the chaotic remnants of what might-have-been. Or that was Loki's description, at least.

Without a word, a third spell crashed into the roof, cutting through the weakened charms that kept the stones together and sending them down into the hall. The blockages wouldn't hold forever, perhaps only half an hour like the last stop - but it would allow him some much-needed rest. It was a small mercy that the things beyond were utterly brainless - incapable of even considering going around the destroyed hallways.

"I'm getting a strong sense of déjà vu," he murmured as he considered the destroyed tunnel that kept him from returning through the way he came. Thankfully, there was no Lockhart here, this time. "...Of course, going back is not an option anymore."

"Well, you made them angry," Loki observed dryly. "I did tell you not to linger, as you are well aware."

Harry just glared at the phantom as he swiped his wand down swiftly. Magic burst from the tip eagerly, and a wave of ice burst into existence, a chill made manifest. Broken pillars and long-bleached paintings frosted over as icicles the size of arms covered the collapse in razor-sharp points and edges. The last shrieking tendrils of the creatures were captured and torn apart, and silence returned.

"Something's different, this time," Harry murmured after a moment, but the thought fled as the gibbering laughs and cries started anew from beyond the ravaged hall. That was quick - far quicker than before. If they had already started digging, he knew he would only have ten, maybe fifteen minutes. They were getting faster, or smarter - or there were ever more of the ghastly things. None of those answers were good.

"Must you linger and pontificate?" Loki asked sharply. "Move."

Harry turned to the darkened halls ahead, trying to ignore the screeching and clawing behind him as he lit the road ahead. He was locked in, even more than before, and the fear that he'd squashed threatened to make a reappearance. Destroying thousands of the creatures was within his power, he knew - he'd held them off for a time at the start - but he was tiring out, and the things just kept coming. And all the while, he was still moving steadily downwards, closer to the one place he really wanted to avoid.

"We're already past the dungeons," Harry said distractedly. "At least, the ones that I remember. I suppose there's a couple levels more, but they were never in use when I was here…" He glanced over the Marauder's Map briefly, tucking it back in his pocket afterwards. He knew exactly where he was - but that wasn't very helpful. Every time he'd tried a side-road, he'd just looped back around to face  _them._ It was enough to make anyone worry. Still, Harry knew that he possessed the Sword of Gryffindor and the Elder Wand - no wizard could ask for better tools. If  _anyone_ could get out of a mess like this alive, it would have to be him.

Continuing down the long tunnel-like hallway, ravaged by the Basilisk's past visits, Harry saw a dim light in the distance - a vague shimmer of flickering firelight. After so much of the castle that had been utterly steeped in gloom, the sight was a surprise, and he couldn't help setting off in a slight jog, even though he knew he should be conserving his energy; the creatures would soon be upon him again. For a moment, though, he desperately hoped it was a crack to the outside - sunlight streaming in. He ignored Loki's warning, storming into the next room.

Four torches burnt on the walls of a huge, immaculate hall - one that was directly in the Basilisk's path, but evidently mostly unaffected by its passage. It had once been protected by vast doors, thick and oaken, but they were now scattered in pieces across the floor, destroyed. And in the center of the room stood a square table with four high-backed chairs arranged around it. In three of those chairs, the desiccated corpses of people sat upright, their right arm leaning onto the surface in front of them and their gazes turned upwards.

"...This is impossible," Harry whispered after a long minute, his wand lowering as he stared at the scene with disbelieving eyes. The distant screams of the gibbering creatures faded, were muted, and even Loki's presence hardly disrupted the eerie calm.

In front of each of the three corpses, arrayed on the table neatly, lay a single object. A shining cup with a badger engraved upon it, a diadem, its gems flickering in the torchlight, and a locket, the letter S standing out prominently on its face. Each of them looked as if they had never been touched, as if they'd been polished that very night. They had been Horcruxes, once - heirlooms of a lost age, brought together by Voldemort. Now, here they were again, right in his path. And he had blundered into them by chance.  _Chance._

Impossible.

The sword could have been a coincidence. Its owner had used it to the last, dying only when it was shattered at last. But these artifacts, placed together for him to find, they had to be there  _intentionally_. Put in his path as a reminder, or as a message. Coincidence after coincidence had gotten him this far - and he began wondering just how many of them had truly been chance. Had it been accidental that he'd found the charm upon the door outside, and had broken into a place that lay forgotten for a thousand years? Was it happenstance that the outside came after him, pressing him ever downwards through the halls, cutting off his escape until he found himself inevitably  _here?_

"You aren't behind this, are you?" Harry asked roughly as he looked at Loki - but the latter looked perplexed. "I thought so. You didn't have the chance - nor the motive to set all this up." He looked again to the Founders, sprawled out over their table, and shivered. "I can see the strings. Nobody knows about this, and even you only saw glimpses of my past, of what I've been through. Otherwise, you would've known about the Basilisk." He put a step forward, releasing his hold on his sword to pick up the cup of Hufflepuff in his shaking hand. He paled, looking back to Loki. "You said the chaos was mindless, right?"

"It is!" Loki hissed. "The outside is chaos by  _definition_!"

"But it's not outside," Harry murmured in realization. "Not anymore." He glanced back over his shoulder, back into the darkness. "And yet - I can't hear them now. This is why the creatures chased me down this path - why they pushed me here. This room." He frowned. "The Founders. Three of them died here - or were brought here, at any rate. So what does that mean? Is this where they did their spell? Where they locked away the inside of Hogwarts?"

Loki slowly stepped to the table, grimacing. "Each of them has been impaled - I can see the wounds on their ribs."

"By what?" Harry wondered. "Not those creatures out there - they'd rip someone limb from limb, I'm sure."

"Correct." Loki stared, gesturing at the ragged tears through the ribs of each of the corpses. "I recognize these wounds - but I do not know from where. Ancient texts, lore…" He frowned, eyes narrowing. "A weapon of some power, I'm sure."

Harry shuddered. "I think I know who did this," he said slowly. "The ones who committed the massacre." He paced slowly, staring at the cup. "There must've been thousands of wizards in the world, if not millions, and they all died out so suddenly. But in here, in Hogwarts, those killers were on enemy ground. It's no wonder that magic held out longest here." He grimaced. "But even the Founders took out only  _some_ of them. As we can see."

"And someone placed them here after they died," Loki concluded. "Shortly after their death, I'm sure. This room - it was preserved."

"Yeah. Maybe by the last wizards. By Merlin himself." Harry set down the cup again in front of Hufflepuff's remains. "Even the Basilisk itself didn't rage through here - it showed its master respect, perhaps." He shook his head. "I don't understand all this. If this room was made after the attack, if this was done when the wizards finally all died - then why are these artifacts here?" He picked up Slytherin's locket, feeling the languid warmth of active magic below his fingertips. "Why these? Why here? It's like they knew I'd come…"

Death herself was watching, waiting, a glass sphere of prophecy in her bony hands. A terrible face, looming and hateful, stretched out a greedy hand, gleaming golden. He'd seen things in Tarleton's mind that he scarcely cared to remember, but he could not deny that his conclusions felt all too likely. Someone was coming for  _him_ , for the Earth. The prophecy sphere in Death's hand, from a thousand years ago.  _Of course._

"Merlin's beard," Harry muttered. "The wizards were wiped out a millennium ago, while the Asgardians were left untouched," he said slowly. "The Seidhr, as you call them, must have been able to do more than even your All-Father could. We must've posed a greater threat."

Loki snorted. "Stronger than the might of Asgard?"

He stared at his wand. "Perhaps the reason the wizards were destroyed is the same reason that you want to be on my side now. You came to be because of another magical artifact, didn't you? One more powerful than any of these." He put down the locket, at last raising the Diadem, studying its facets. "Tell me, Loki of Asgard, what would happen if  _I_  took up the Cube?"

Loki said nothing, but his icy pallor said enough.

"It is that powerful, isn't it?" Harry smiled, but there was no humor in it. "You've said that I would be necessary to activate the thing, but you never said what it was for, did you? Perhaps you don't know - you've probably just heard of its might. Is it a weapon, or something worse?" The skull-like face of Death gleamed in his mind, and a thrill of fear ran down his back. That was a warning, perhaps - or a signal. He was getting close.

He'd been driven down here, down through the hallways and remnants of Hogwarts to find a message that was left for him - a message that not even the forces of chaos could destroy after a thousand years. The artifacts of the Founders were put aside for him, even more so than Gryffindor's sword. He didn't know why - but a thrill of hope managed to tear through his worries. Death might be watching - but it seemed he wasn't entirely alone in this. Someone had seen fit to warn him, to arm him.

"When this is over - we will take the Cube - the Tesseract," Harry stated firmly. "I will see it with my own eyes - and if it is too great a danger to exist, I will destroy it." He smiled. "I've got a knack for that sort of thing."

"Destroy it?" Loki bit out. "No!"

"I have the right!" Harry stated strongly, fire blazing in his eyes as he turned to Loki. "Magical artifacts can attract the worst of people, and those are precisely the ones that are too dangerous to be kept around. The world's kept turning without wizards - it can live without a cube, too." He hesitated momentarily, staring at the last artifact, the diadem, and smiled. "These trinkets are more than powerful enough, I think."

He slipped the three heirlooms into his pouch, determined to find out what to do with them later, like the sword. As he went to put the last one in his bag, besides his brooms, something  _changed._  Harry stumbled as the world shifted around him instantly, as a flood of emotions momentarily tried to wash him away, just like it had when he first entered the front door. Then - it twisted, and a shimmering shape flowed into being - a person. His mind felt like it was filled with cotton, and he blinked lazily.

"...What?" Harry asked, confused. "Is that you, Hermione?"

"Harry," her soft voice said, almost melancholical in tone, as the shape solidified. "...Why did you do this?" She was a shimmer, no more than the vaguest of shapes. But - Harry knew who she was, and couldn't deny that. He knew who all of them were, crowded around him. Their presence chilled him to the bone.

"...Hermione," he said again, swallowing as he stumbled backwards, feeling suddenly trapped, wondering where he was. "What - what did I do?"

The faint figure became tangible as it stepped forward, congealing into skin and hair and furious eyes. "You abandoned us, Harry!" she hissed. "You left us behind!" She turned away from him, her jaw set, unwilling to meet his eyes. "You left us with our sorrow and loss, and for  _what_? For a preposterous fantasy in some other world? Running away from your responsibilities in our reality, so you could live out your life in another?"

"That's not it," Harry said slowly, shivering. "We talked about this, didn't we? You let me go, remember? I know you didn't like my solution, but you said it was my choice to make! You said you respected it!"

"Well, we could never stop you from making your own mistakes, you know," Ron snapped as he formed from the shimmering mist, his eyes sharp like knives. "You betrayed us, and that hurts a lot, Harry. You fled to go on a selfish quest of your own, without us, even after all that happened between the three of us." He turned away, too, his eyes downcast. "I  _hate_ you."

"No - Ron!" Harry protested. "You know that's not true! You of all people - I offered-"

"It was an offer that we could never take." Hermione shook her head sadly. "It might've been alright, if you were serious about this, if you owned up to your choices. But you haven't really trusted anyone in your new world, have you? You're just like you were back here. You meet people, make allies - but you keep your secrets to yourself, wallowing in your own self-pity until it drives everyone away." She sniffed. "You haven't even told them where you're from, have you? Or about us?"

"I -" Harry hesitated, and a table wavered into view momentarily. He blinked in surprise. Where'd that come from?

"You would walk with these Muggles into battle, into war itself, but you deny them the chance to actually know who you are?" Ron chided. "They might trust you despite your own lack of trust in their abilities, but that will not last. They will all abandon you, just as you would abandon them. You know that it will happen, the first time you step over a line they won't cross with you."

"A friend who knows you, might forgive you," Ron stated. "But if you keep everyone at arm's length, you'll end up alone. And then what? Back onto the road, hoping that the next world will be better, when the problem is within yourself?"

"It's already begun, you know," Hermione said slowly. "Lady Sif, after all, did not return to your side…"

"That's not her reason, I'm certain of it!" Harry snapped suddenly, grasping Ron by the front of his robe and pulling him upright. "Look at me, Ron! I didn't tell the others about my past because there's no point to it! The person that left home is not the same that arrived here." He let his friend go, sighing. "I trust the others to tell me what I need to know, and I'll do the same for them. If Tony or Bruce really wanted to find out about my secrets, they could simply ask. I wouldn't deny them the answers. I like to toy around with Fury, but even he will hear what is necessary."

"People deserve more than  _need-to-know,_ " Hermione said.

"Maybe," Harry acknowledged. "And I'll consider telling them." He looked around himself, as the world flickered. "I don't feel the need to defend myself from a figment of my imagination, though." He looked up, smiling. "You had me fooled for a bit, there. Pretty good illusion."

The world cracked, and Harry stumbled. Black tendrils retreated slowly from the table's surface, twitching away as Harry reached out to pick up the artifact that had rolled out of his pouch.

Hufflepuff's Cup - the symbol of loyalty. This, at one time, had been Voldemort's Horcrux - but now it was simply a creation of Helga Hufflepuff, Founder of Hogwarts. He understood, now, what had happened. In the entrance hall he'd been engulfed by emotions too, feelings that were bottled up inside the castle. Fear, paranoia, and figments of his own imagination. Loki had pulled him out of that funk, ripped him free before he could find a way to combat it. This time - this time he'd freed himself.

Both times, there had been a magical artifact present, gleaming innocently until the moment he least expected their intrusion - and then they struck. The Sword of Gryffindor had made him fear, and doubt, and falter. Hufflepuff's Cup had questioned his friendship, his loyalties, his trust. The Diadem and Locket had done nothing, but they might yet surprise him. It made sense - a sick sort of sense.

"This is all a test," Harry murmured at last, staring into the reflective surface of the cup. He glanced aside to Loki, who was looking decidedly unimpressed, perhaps interpreting his momentary trance as nothing more than a graceless stumble. "Ah, it's nothing," Harry said at last, frowning, as he dropped the cup back into his pouch. "I've seen enough here."

Harry frowned as he stepped down the path he'd been following before, his wand lit again. If this was all a test - then who was testing him?

Merlin? The Founders? Death itself?

A giggling cry echoed down the halls, high-pitched and desperate, insane and mournful. Harry felt a shiver run down his back, and he knew that it wasn't that simple. Something  _else_ was down here, more than the serpent.

Chaos reigned.


	32. Immortal Coil

The tunnel stretched out into the murky distance as Harry slowly descended, but he only paid cursory attention to the road ahead. He was still thinking about the three would-be Horcruxes that had been laid out for him in the room he'd left behind, placed in his way by someone who had known that another wizard would be coming. Either it was a pretty impressive coincidence that each of the objects had special significance to Harry, or there was perhaps more at play, here...

"I  _really_  hate prophecies," he mumbled under his breath; his past experiences with fortune-telling were less than comforting, to say the least. He was certain that this time around wouldn't be much simpler, and the ghostly image of the specter of death with a sphere in her hands was worrisome enough without adding more problems to it.

Harry had an inkling about what he'd find, down in the depths: more tests, perhaps, more memories from his past brought to new life. A trail of breadcrumbs that led to  _something_ \- a way out, maybe, or the answers he was looking for. Honestly, he was beginning to doubt whether Hogwarts was a trap for something  _else_ , or if it had been his own private mousetrap all along.

The path evened out at last as Harry came around another bend, and an awful stench flowed towards him, a ghastly rotting smell that had been trapped in the ancient corridors circling the fringes of the Chamber of Secrets. Harry hadn't visited this place in years, and his discomfort had to be visible on his face, because Loki was staring at him with narrowed eyes. The ghostly Asgardian was the only thing in the hall that didn't have warped, flickering shadows from the light of  _Lumos,_ and he stood out like a sore thumb _._

"Loki - you won't interrupt me in there," Harry said softly as he caught the man's gaze, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself. "Do you understand that?"

"Well, I don't see how I  _could_ interrupt," Loki drawled in response as he raised an eyebrow. "I cannot get in your way, obviously - and I am not about to start playing jester in any case. However amusing the idea might be." He brought his hand to his head dramatically. "Oh, that you think so poorly of one who saved your life..." he murmured wryly. "It hurts, you know."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Yeah,  _that_ wasn't exactly out of compassion, was it?" he reminded the Asgardian dryly. "I recall that you wanted my help with something, and I wouldn't be very handy  _dead._  In fact, an awful lot of what you do is self-serving. Looking after number one, I take it?"

"Well, of course," Loki confirmed, grinning. "But since I am not opposing you, why are you bothered by that?"

Harry sighed. "Yeah, there's so much wrong with that attitude I barely know where to start," he muttered. "Let's just get out of here, and we'll deal with the rest later." He glanced back down the hallway he'd left with a frown. He knew that the creatures from before were still out there, since he could hear them skittering every so often, deformed feet scraping across rough stone. Their hunt was over, it seemed, their blood-lust bridled for a time. They'd done what they'd set out to do - drive him ever further into the castle's deepest reaches.

"If you know a way out," Loki murmured. "Your map has been - less than helpful."

"Half the castle's caved in," Harry said irritably. "And down here, nothing was ever properly mapped at all. Anyway, there weren't many options." He rubbed his forehead, wiping away the sheen of sweat. "Look, your personal fascination with wizards isn't important right now, escaping this place  _is_. Let's just skip the rest."

"Oh, I assure you, my interest in your kind is purely  _academic_ ," Loki affirmed. "Only a few care for the pure mystical arts in Asgard, and I have long lacked the ability compare my own crafts with others... There are some sorcerers among the other worlds of Yggdrasil, of course, but to find a Seidhr, a Midgardian mage, alive and well?  _That_ is a proper miracle."

"Even now, you're just having fun studying me, aren't you?" Harry frowned, staring at the Asgardian. "...You're just  _curious_ about me, aren't you?" he asked. "That's why you were watching me out in the desert with Sif. It's why you decided to do your little trick in New York, too, I'm sure. This whole affair with the mystical Cube, that's just a secondary goal, I'm sure. Everything's about figuring out how I tick."

Loki scoffed. "Hardly. I fully intend to retrieve that artifact," he countered immediately. "Do not presume to know everything, child."

"Ah, insults. Have you run out of wit?" Harry asked dryly. "I will deal with the Cube when I get the opportunity. If that thing is a weapon, you know I won't allow you to use it," he added. "You'll just have to decide if you can live with that, if you want my help." He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you're in this for that Tesseract, or maybe you're just intent on dissecting the magic I use. I'll find out when we get there, I suppose..."

The Asgardian didn't comment, but his glare said plenty.

"There are more immediate problems," Harry said, ignoring the shivers that ran down his back as he passed through the cavernous halls that the Basilisk had ruined on its way up, scraping along the walls until there was nothing left but bare rock. "Remember,  _I_ am the only wizard around here. You are just a spirit, at best. That means I am the one who will have to face whatever's ahead, and incidentally I am the only person who has experience with this place at all. That makes me the expert."

Loki rolled his eyes mockingly. "Hm, I have been informing you of this place's nature since we first entered, haven't I? That  _clearly_ means you're more familiar with it than I am." He shook his head slowly, sighing. "I suppose I cannot stop you from acting like an imbecile."

"No one can, I've found," Harry replied with a slight grin, but it faded quickly. "There's something bigger behind all this, I can feel it. These chaos creatures aren't mindless, and perhaps they never were. They attacked in order to drive me on, like a living wall of incentive. And they also forced me to collapse the way back." He smiled mirthlessly. "It feels like old times, you know, locked in with the big bad monster without a way out. And believe it or not, this is not the worst place I've ever found myself..."

"Well," Loki drawled. "That must set your mind at ease."

"Maybe a little." Harry shrugged. "If a few mutant uglies with too many body parts really scared me, I'd never have made it through this school in one piece," he responded easily, thinking of the Blast-Ended Skrewts with a shudder of revulsion. "Just follow my lead, and we'll make it through."

The Asgardian yawned. "That is a useless gesture, Seidmadr. You know what I am. You should concern yourself with your own well-being, not with that of your lively imagination..."

"Ah, you want to pretend you're just my imagination, huh?" Harry observed. "My mind's conjured up worse company, I suppose. The snake's venom can't hurt you, that's true enough, but you still shouldn't meet its eyes, even for a second - even as you are. To see the Basilisk's gaze is to see death, and even indirect exposure is  _very_ dangerous. I've seen it affect  _ghosts_. I rather think your father would be annoyed if I got you killed."

The Asgardian scoffed under his breath, looking away. "I'm sure he would be," he muttered.

Harry wasn't sure what to say to those dismissive words, or the flash of something indefinable that appeared in the Asgardian's eyes as he said them, a storm of emotions that the wizard was hard-pressed to untangle. Considering Harry's own home-life was not exactly something he cared to linger on, he stopped himself from asking questions.

A long silence persisted as Harry trod on into a long hallway that he'd also passed through in another time, marked by an ancient door that had been torn to the ground. He could still see the shapes of serpents on its face, waiting for the Parseltongue password that would never come again.

"Welcome to the Chamber of Secrets," Harry said with a distant sort of reverence, more for his own memories than for what was really there. "Welcome to the Basilisk's Lair."

He passed through the entrance still under his invisibility cloak, his wand's light barely bright enough to see by. He protected himself by casting his gaze down to the floor, noting from the corner of his eyes that the same ancient statues of serpents lined the way of shimmering stone, marred by grooves and lines carved into them by the mightiest of monsters. Beyond the tracks lay only dust and grime, and the great stone face of Salazar Slytherin which looked out over the hall with his familiar frown. There was a lot of rubble at the bottom of it, as if it had been ripped apart from within, and the statue's lower jaw was entirely missing.

Harry lowered the gleaming steel of Gryffindor's sword to the ground and flicked his wand upward. Beams of light scattered through the room, illuminating the stones all around with a dazzling flash. Harry could almost imagine the corpse of his own Basilisk still laying there, curled up on itself in front of its master's visage with its eyes pecked out by Fawkes.

A terrifying feeling descended on Harry as he stood there in that familiar place, and his every hair stood on end. The soft light of his Lumos played with the shadows as he swallowed thickly. He knew he could not trick the Basilisk into believing there was nobody around, since between the ruckus upstairs and the scents he left behind, that was a fool's errand. He would rather avoid being ambushed by the thing, though, and he had a feeling the element of surprise was long gone in any case. But the creature was aware of his presence, now.

The heavy atmosphere lasted only until Loki piped up.

"Well, this is anticlimactic," the Asgardian loudly commented from Harry's side, striding around the room without bothering with the slightest approximation of stealth or decorum. He glanced up into the darkness without even a sign of self-preservation, clearly exasperated by the emptiness and unconvinced by Harry's warning. "You know, I expected a little more than a ruin and dust down here, with all that build-up..."

"Shut up, Loki!" Harry whispered, realizing only belatedly that the Asgardian's unthinking behavior hadn't actually been visible to anything else that might be present. He sighed deeply. "Hogwarts is a tomb," he said mildly. "Let's not spook the dead."

Loki sighed, rubbing his forehead. "So, you're superstitious now?"

"You're a  _god,_ Loki, and I'm a wizard," Harry said dryly. "I'm just being realistic." He stepped towards a spot he remembered well from many nightmares, the place where Tom Riddle had attempted to use Ginny's life to fuel his own. He was about to speak up again, when there was a sudden rush of cold air, a movement in a room that had been utterly stagnant, and he froze with his grip on his wand tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

That presence he'd felt before, whispering at the edge of hearing, was all around him now. It was a strange feeling of icy cold and dreadful decay, as if someone had stepped on his grave. Everything seemed strangely muted. A crackling, hoarse voice spoke, but it was not a voice. "...You have no right to be here!" it verbalized in an amalgam of howls, whines and strangled coughs.

Harry twisted around on the spot, his wand aimed back at the entrance before he'd fully through it through. There stood something utterly  _inhuman_ in the doorway _._ Framed by the rays of  _Lumos,_ its lank, wiry shape shambled into the room only slowly. It was gaunt-faced and rickety, striding on bony excuses for feet, and though it seemed as if the thing still had a full head of hair, and a beard, those both moved on their own _,_ and Harry recoiled in horror.

Where a scalp  _should_ have been, a cancerous creature convulsed languidly, its long tentacles hooking into the skin or bone of its host, and some loosely dangling down its back. Its beard, in turn, was made of live, bulbous worms, countless hooked monstrosities with razor-sharp stingers that were embedded under its flesh. The eyes were unforgiving voids.

"Ugh, you have a little something in your… everything," Loki noted with a grimace, waving vaguely at his own teeth. "You might want to… Fine, just go for the undead look then, I doubt you will get anything else to work for you."

"Would you shut  _up_ , Loki!" Harry hissed again. "And as for you -" He pointed at the  _thing_ in revulsion _._ "You stay right where you are." He forced his hands not to tremble as he kept his wand fixed on the new arrival. The Inferi, for that is what it seemed to be, ignored the command entirely, moving inexorably closer. "I'm serious. Don't come any closer!" Harry tried again more forcefully.

" _You have no right to be in this place!_ " the thing screeched in reply, its rotten brow cracking as it contorted into a frown, and it raised a hand as if it were still holding a wand, though nothing remained of it but dust. "Not here,  _never_ again! This is my domain! None may enter!" it snarled. "Stay  _out!_  Stay out, forever!"

What did the Inferi mean by the Chamber being  _its_ domain? Harry hesitated, dipping his wand ever so slightly as he stared at the destroyed face before him in disbelief. The likeness was there, he realized, though terribly distorted.

"Are you... Salazar Slytherin?" he asked hesitantly, reluctant to glance behind him towards the giant mirror image that had been carved into the rock. It had to be. "Um... I would say you look good for a thousand years old," Harry murmured. "But you're not  _alive_ anymore, are you?I hope."

"Well, if he looks good for a thousand, I must look positively  _dashing,_ " Loki murmured dryly.

Harry didn't comment, keeping his eyes on the creature that stood before him. The Inferi wasn't the person that he had been, Harry knew from experience serving as an Auror - the soul was long gone, and all that remained was an echo. He'd fought some of these things before, and he was sure that it couldn't be Salazar Slytherin that stood before him. Not really. The thing was an  _it,_ not a  _he,_ and Harry had to remember that. The whole reason why Inferi were such very effective tools for dark wizards was that most people would freeze up at the thought of hurting a person - even a dead one.  _Especially_ one they recognized.

The shambling thing retched loudly. "You killed my  _people!"_ It blurted with a grimace. "Now you would invade my very  _sanctum?_ " The undead Founder edged forward, and Harry noticed that even its clothes weren't cloth at all. They too were creatures of some sort, black things that latched into each other with sharp claws and tiny teeth, their clusters of eyes blinking up curiously as they shifted around each other. "You have no  _right_ to enter this place! _"_ the thing barked. "You murder us at your whim!"

"I didn't kill  _anyone_ ," Harry returned just as sharply, and the thing shuddered for an instant. "Hogwarts let me in the door, didn't it? Isn't that proof enough? Is this some freaky way to protect your school, Slytherin, to turn yourself into one of the Inferi?" He waved his wand downwards swiftly, drawing a line across the ground in front of him of thin, white-hot fire. "Whatever you were hunting down here has been gone for centuries, hasn't it? The castle has decayed, and so have your contemporaries." He hesitated. "I am... the only wizard that this world has, now."

"So, you are truly the last?" Loki echoed, a smile darting across his lips. "The final Seidmadr, defending his foolish pride from the remnants of his own ancestors… How delightfully quaint. I should make a picture, and have it framed..."

Harry glanced aside darkly. "I remember telling you something, Loki. Stop talking," he hissed under his breath. "I know how to banish ghosts, and I have an inkling those spells would work on you, too."

Loki simply smiled.

"It's all lies, lies,  _lies,_ " the Slytherin-thing cried, its blackened tongue a jagged centipede. "I saw it! I saw it all!" it warbled, its bones cracking as it moved. "You should not have returned, should not have entered this place again!" He shuddered. "I have seen everything!"

"Seen  _what?_ " Harry asked, ignoring Loki for the moment in favor of the more imposing presence. "What did you see, Slytherin?"

The Inferi laughed for an instant, dry and harsh. "I was there! Ah, we held them for a week! Seven long days of siege in which we burned them, and dissolved them, and made them  _suffer_ for what they did to our kind!" It cried. "And then  _they_ unleashed their great weapons. Their wicked plagues _,_ disease and pain, madness and grief. They sent a sickness that wasted away the flesh on our bones!" He reached forward with his skeletal arms, exposing the putrid bulges that should have been muscle. "See what they did to me? What they did to us all?" It asked desperately. "We had no choice but to act!"

"What are you talking about?" Harry inquired warily, shuffling further back as he held Gryffindor's sword ready. "Who did all that to you? Who was responsible for your death?"

" _It keeps us alive_ , even now!" the Inferi spat in reply, and bug-like creatures crawled across its face like living tears. "It tortures us, keeps up to witness what we did. It was our last choice, our final desperation! They would kill us all, murder us to the last. So we did what we had to do." He shivered. "We could not have foreseen..."

"He's speaking of the shift to this place of chaos," Harry murmured distractedly to Loki, focusing on the words even as he made sure the creature did not come any closer. "There was a plan to lock away the castle, as I thought… but it failed," he concluded, swallowing thickly. "Slytherin? What happened after you locked away the building?"

" _It was our last choice,_ " the thing repeated shakily, staring at Harry as if he were someone else. "We were victorious, because we held  _them_ off, kept the last of us safe. A hundred souls, maybe less, spared from the silent cataclysm." He sneered as his empty sockets turned aside. "There were those of all bloodlines, pure and defiled alike, but such things had ceased to matter by then." He spat, and the spit crawled away on its own legs. "We locked  _them_ out, we prevented their entrance. But we did not see what we had unleashed inside the castle… The thing that murdered us." He grimaced. "You killed us all!"

"It's not really seeing  _me,_ " Harry observed softly. "It can't, because I'm new, and there's nothing left that can recognize new things. I think the Inferi is stuck in its last minutes, endlessly repeating the same few thoughts and memories from a thousand years ago." He swallowed thickly. "It's an echo. And whatever it saw, it's seared into its mind…"

"It saw everything, right? It witnessed the end of the Seidhr remnant," Loki observed darkly.

"I will not let you kill us," Slytherin snarled, and it moved without warning, crossing the line of fire that Harry had drawn with no regard for its own safety, stumbling through with the sound of sizzling exoskeleton and charred flesh. In a second it was closer than it ever should have been, running at unnatural speed as its jaw opened wide, exposing a maw lined with jagged, deformed teeth.

"Merlin!" Harry cried in surprise as he flung himself backwards, his quick shield spell sputtering in the air in a wave of blue as the Inferi slammed itself against it. There was an awful snapping sound, a shiver in the air, and there was no telling if it was the magic failing, or the thing's body. Harry wasn't about to wait and find out. Scrambling upright again, he managed to pull off a second shield charm just before the first fell to Slytherin's unnatural strength, and he sighed in relief.

"You will not kill me!" Slytherin snapped as it flung itself forward again, and Harry saw his opportunity in that movement. He did not speak an incantation, but the tip of the Elder Wand burst briefly with light before his spell slashed outwards with a savage intensity. It was a carving, cutting, delving power that ripped into the Inferi, tearing it to pieces as easily as it would anything else. There was no subtlety in it, just raw, unbridled  _power._ Harry knew that he had never cast a more powerful  _Sectumsempra._

"Noooo!" The former Founder's head still howled as it landed on the floor, its hair crawling across the stones and dragging its host. The rest of its scattered body did much the same, twitching and groaning. Slytherin was barely more than bleached bones beneath the chaotic mess of tentacles and flesh _,_ but each part of the Inferi still moved, still fought to reunite and continue the fight, to try again.

"I would suggest using fire," Loki said conversationally from the sideline, yawning mockingly. "It seems to work well on the undead. Or you can try to cut it into more little pieces. Whatever is more expedient." The Asgardian sighed, crossing his arms. "This can hardly be called a challenge, you know."

"Excuse me for being cautious. I was trying to find out what it knew," Harry replied, but he acknowledged Loki's point. Inferi weren't particularly dangerous one-on-one, if you knew what to do - it was when you faced a bunch of them that things began to get interesting. "Fire, then?" he echoed. "I can do fire."

Harry thought back to Stane, to the power that had flowed from his wand against him, that wave of all-consuming fire which had scorched everything. With a deep breath, the spell poured anew from his wand with every bit as much power as it had that day, the closest thing to Fiendfyre that he dared to unleash here. This was Dumbledore's spell, the most powerful one Harry had ever seen the Headmaster use save perhaps in the duel against Voldemort.

The bright inferno burst outwards in a rippling cascade, a shock of white heat that engulfed the room and caught every shed snakeskin ablaze, igniting the shambling bits of the Inferi that remained at his feet. And even while the Founder turned to ash, his shrieks continued unabated.

Inferi did not come about on their own. Harry knew they did not shamble out of their grave unaided, nor could they last a millennium out of sheer spite. Not even Salazar Slytherin himself. These things were  _created_ by unscrupulous wizards _,_ resurrected from remains to serve their new master, soulless things that followed orders. Slytherin had been nothing but bone, underneath the mass of chaos that replaced the rest of him, which meant whatever had created the thing was  _very_ powerful. No matter. He'd faced the worst of dark wizards before.

"I know you're out there!" Harry shouted over the blaze, his wand blazing alight and bathing the room in a golden dawn, stinging his eyes with the brightness. "Show yourself!"

"Have you gone completely mad?" Loki demanded. "Were you not the one who insisted on being cautious not a minute ago? You would call the creature you fear upon yourself?"

Harry glanced at the Asgardian, leaning against the serpentine statues that lined the hall with a frown. "If I need to. Slytherin was being controlled, which means that the puppet-master is around here, somewhere. It has to be someone who's kept themselves alive for a thousand years, locked inside Hogwarts…"

Salazar Slytherin's Inferi had spoken of locking out the things that came to eradicate the wizards, the threat that ended the Seidhr on Earth. It had mentioned the final measure that the wizards of Hogwarts had taken - but in locking themselves away from the world, it had not been the outside that did them in. Something already on the  _inside_ had done the job for the enemy. The Basilisk, perhaps? But wouldn't Slytherin, of all people, have control over  _that_ particular monstrosity?"

Harry turned to the statue behind him, to the glowering face he'd just burned to ash, though the remains still twitched. He knew what the next step was from here. If it weren't for the certainty that it was the only way out, he might have hesitated. "Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four," he said with emphasis, his gaze wavering to the stone mouth of the statue ahead, every bit as ancient as he remembered. There was no rumble of stone, no reaction. He should have known, in retrospect. This road was long gone, too, and without Parseltongue it was useless anyway.

"Potter!" Loki barked, and Harry glanced back to the Asgardian, who gestured back towards the door. "Spring cleaning isn't over yet, it seems," he said easily. "There is yet more work to do."

Harry twitched as he noticed that some grotesque creature which had squeezed itself into the empty archway he'd entered through, a mass of pulsating vessels and bulging eyes that grasped the stonework for support. In front of the hideous thing stood three figures. Each of them were mere bones wrapped in creatures of cartilage and pus, just like Slytherin had been. It wasn't hard to guess who they were. The creatures from outside had washed in through the gates, and had taken along everything that they passed along the way. Everything.

"Well, one down, three to go…" Harry complained as the three Inferi burst forward to meet the killer of their fellow Founder. He raised his wand, and with a single burst of will and a stray memory of standing side by side with Dumbledore in a distant cave, his conflagration bloomed again from the flames that still licked at the corners of the room, a maelstrom of heat that swept across the Chamber in a split second.

He was getting rather good at this.

"I will not let you!" the foremost Inferi cried in protest as its bony exoskeleton caught alight from the flames, though it kept moving. Judging from its grizzled almost-beard and broad frame, it had once been Godric Gryffindor, in better days. "You are not permitted to do this!"

"Honestly, can you guys get some new lines already," Harry muttered as he slashed his wand sideways, casting another vicious severing curse that would have landed him a long, long detention if he were still a student. Although it neatly sliced through the neck of the Founder as he had intended, razor-sharp talons lashed out from both sides of the cut and grasped the two disparate parts before they could fall apart, knitting together the wound before it could even fully open.

"You get points for trying!" Loki called from the sidelines, and Harry was convinced the god would have been snacking on popcorn if they'd had it in his freaky alien dimension. "Try again!"

"I do hope the Headmistress will forgive me for this," Harry murmured before the thing could attack again, and he stabbed his other hand forward viciously. The blade of Gryffindor's sword vanished hilt-deep into its owner's chest, and the creature hissed in shock, or pain, as its blackened blood reacted with the metal, tortured by something that it had absorbed in the past. Flames burst inwards towards its heart, or what passed for it, and its contorted face took on a surprised expression as it stumbled away.

"Going for irony, huh?" Loki quipped as he put his hands behind his head, leaning against the wall. "That's more like it. I appreciate the show!"

"Will you stop yapping?  _Sectumsempra_ ," Harry snapped, ducking back from Hufflepuff's Inferi before he could take back the sword, and its lower half vanished in a puff of bone dust and drawn-out screams. He took half a moment to feel bad, before he mercilessly tossed the rest of the thing into the fires that still billowed all around the chamber. He glanced to Loki. "A little help would be nice here, you know!"

"And how would you suggest -" Loki started, annoyed, before he paused. "Ah, right. She's behind you."

"Ah, sh-" Harry narrowly dived out of the way of the shambling Rowena Ravenclaw's claw-like digits as the uncannily limber thing tried to grasp him, and he didn't hesitate to fire the strongest blasting spell he knew at point-blank range, caving in the creature that doubled as its chest. Ravenclaw fell as tendrils of undefinable sinew tried to bind the wound, but Harry followed up with a severing curse that cut apart the remaining connections.

"This place is not meant for abominations!" the thing forced through ruined lungs. There was little left of the woman Harry had seen in paintings, and he rather pitied the thing she'd become. "You have no right…!" the undead thing blurted through cracked lips.

If it weren't for his years as an Auror, Harry would certainly have heaved. Unfortunately, he'd seen worse. This particular moment, however, was  _not_ something he'd ever tell Hermione about. Ever. He was sure that murdering the Founders was worth some kind of eternal reprimand, even if they were flesh-eating zombies out for his guts. He felt an urge to do  _something_ in response to his merciless slicing and dicing, but he wasn't sure if it was a cry or a mad laugh that was trying to get out. He didn't dare find out.

" _Incendio_ ," Harry spoke harshly, and Rowena Ravenclaw's cries too were swallowed up by the roar of the flames, as she joined her colleagues as twitching piles of ash and dust. Which only left one loose end.

"Murderer," the last voice spoke lowly, echoing and scraping at the same time. The last of the Inferi had its sword clasped lovingly in its hand, ripped free from its chest which had reformed in the moments that Harry had been distracted. "You have no right to walk in these halls!" it snarled, echoing Slytherin's words.

"I have  _every_ right!" Harry returned sharply. "You zombies all keep saying that same line, but you're  _dead._ You're not even yourself! Just a monster kept alive for someone's sick amusement." He gestured to the twitching remains on the ground. "See that smear? That was Salazar Slytherin, and he told me that you locked yourself away in here. That the things from outside were  _not_ what killed you. So what  _did_?"

"I  _died,_ " the former Godric Gryffindor wailed, unearthly light glowing in its eye sockets. "I died to save them all, to keep the enemy at bay! They were the last to break through into the castle, and I could not let them slaughter the others. I stayed behind. I sacrificed my  _life._ " He shivered, his hand clasping onto his sword's hilt more tightly. "And I  _failed!_ I failed to see that the danger was never truly in front of me, not until the end!"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Who killed the other wizards and witches?" he asked sharply, an unspoken spell glowing at the end of his wand. "Who is responsible for this massacre at Hogwarts? Tell me! Who? One of our own? Was it another wizard?"

"No," Gryffindor spoke slowly, and the word lingered. "It was harmless, pathetic," it continued. "We did not care for it, but we never banished it. It was  _weak_. When we made our choice, we did not know the consequences. In a world of order, it had no power, no might to wield. It would have been noticed and corrected. But in these realms of the Nameless…" He shuddered. "It  _consumed,_ andit  _festered._ It ripped into me before my body had cooled.  _It will not let me die._ "

"Something... that was already here…?" Harry started, but then a slow, ponderous rumble came from behind him, and he froze. It was a scraping noise, a shuffle of huge coils across stone, a great weight that seemed to swallow up the light of the remaining fires.  _The Basilisk._  Loki turned to watch it without fear, but his eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening to say something before he hesitated.

"Still so… very… very... talkative, even after all these years," a new voice whispered in a tone that was cold and unimaginably cruel, and Harry shivered involuntarily _._ He couldn't force himself to move, to turn. His muscles cramped up before he could try, his hand clasping around his wand desperately. He could not even blink.

_He could not close his eyes!_

"You know we do not speak to… prey," the voice murmured from far closer. "Ah, pitiful thing…"

"I am sorry," Gryffindor said through cracked lips, his empty gaze focused on Harry; it was not speaking to the  _thing_ at all _._ "This place is cursed, you should flee!" it cried. " None should ever come here again, boy! He keeps us  _alive_ as his company, because he needs us.  _Needs us!_ Leave this place, and forget us! _"_

The thing behind Harry cackled, a sound that reverberated around the room and echoed through the tunnels, a maddening noise that betrayed more desperation than glee. Slowly, something shifted into view in the corner of Harry's eyes, and he looked the other way, shivering as he tried to move, to flee, and spots blinked in his eyes. Even  _Loki_ seemed nailed to the floor. The huge blackened shape curled up slowly until it dominated the field of view, and though Harry tried to ignore it, tried to look away, he could not manage it.

The basilisk was far bigger than Harry remembered even as a kid, towering high above him with its massive bulk, seemingly too large even for Hogwarts' widest halls. Its scales were the size of dinner-plates or larger, iridescent black and gleaming in the wand-light as the creature snuffed out the conjured flames without effort. There was no maw on the thing, nor eyes, as its serpentine body ended simply in a massive layer of dark, tangled scar tissue. The creature resembled a gigantic earthworm more than a snake, no, and stretched across what should have been its reptilian face was a second, unnatural mouth, a jagged grin.

"Ah, caught wandering the halls in the dark… Naughty, naughty wizard …" the thing hissed from that mutant orifice, its tail curling in to meet its head, the tip circling Gryffindor's standing remains. "It has been so very long since there was one of your kind here… Stupid Muggles wander in, sometimes, but not a prize like you..."

"...It is slightly more imposing than I anticipated," Loki observed, slipping effortlessly through the thing's coils as he approached Harry's side. "And you didn't mention it could  _speak!_ "

Harry couldn't answer for a long moment until he focused on Loki and the air seemed to untangle. He caught himself before he could fall as his muscles suddenly returned to his control, and he took a deep breath, blinking furiously.

"I killed your brethren, little child," the serpent continued, its head arching further upwards towards the distant roof of the cavern, and it seemed as if it filled the whole Chamber of Secrets with its gargantuan body. Crawling feelers of nameless things dangled from its deformed face as its smiled down. "I killed them for their  _ignorance,_ " it hissed. "And I keep them alive for that reason, too…"

"Who  _are_ you?" Harry asked. "You're the thing that's been sending those creatures after me, aren't you?" He grimaced. "You lured me in here."

"Hm, I did, I did," it said slowly, its grin warping. "And you came obediently to me, wrapped in your false mantle of security… Does it comfort you, to know that you cannot be seen? I smell you, I hear your breath, I feel your air. I know where you are." It chuckled. "I destroyed the wizards of old, child, when I was but young and tender. In those days I was a parasite, but ages passed… Now I am...  _supreme!"_

Harry swallowed thickly. "You were a  _parasite?"_ he whispered as he gazed at the grin that was etched across the Basilisk's excuse for a face. He remembered that smile, recognized it in essentials. He had seen it many times in the old world, on a pitiful joke of a creature that nobody but first-years really feared. A nuisance.

Harmless.  _Pathetic._

"...Peeves?" Harry asked in horrified realization.

" _Do not call me by that wretched name!"_ The spirit-turned-serpent thundered as he lashed out with his tail, a whip, which snapped in front of Harry's face so suddenly that he tripped back and fell against the putrid coils of the creature, slick and oily under his touch. "I was  _weak_! I made mischief, but that was all I did! The chaos of rebirth gave me new form, and power beyond reckoning! And in its honor, I have renounced my old appellations. Now I am only  _Nameless,_ the Mighty!"

"...He does realize that's a title too, right?" Loki murmured, rolling his eyes. "Amateurs."

"Merlin," Harry mumbled, stunned. The thing was  _Peeves_ , Harry thought hysterically. The creature that killed the wizards in Hogwarts was a _poltergeist_ , a harmless spirit of chaos, born from the misdeeds and secret plans hatched by students of Hogwarts. He was every bit as old as the castle itself, and had he remained in the real world, Peeves' chaotic nature would have been held in check by the orderly nature of the world around him, and by the oversight of the teachers and ghosts. But here, steeped in chaos itself, in his natural element…

Peeves had set himself up as god of his own domain, and murdered every wizard who remained within his reach, just because he  _could_. "You killed the Founders," Harry concluded with a grimace. "You killed the very people that made your existence  _possible."_

"Yes, yes!" the creature hissed in triumph, grinning. "I held the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts within my grasp, and put them out one by one... They who denied me so many things were at my feet! I made them grovel, and I make them grovel  _still._ " He nudged his head down towards the former Gryffindor, who had crumpled to the floor and was prostrating itself before the snake. "Who is the nuisance now, huh? Who is weak?"

Harry glanced down to Gryffindor. "Their souls are long gone, aren't they?" he observed distantly. "These things are Inferi of your making - you must have picked up how to do it from Slytherin or something. You must know what you're torturing is not  _them,_ is it? It's just memories of their last days. It's probably all they can remember." He shook his head. "They're just puppets for your mad play, because you killed all the real players."

"Ah, these sob-stories are the worst," Loki said with his arms crossed. "...Are you planning on slicing the ugly thing's head off any time soon? I'm getting bored." Harry just glanced over warningly, and the Asgardian raised an eyebrow.

"I  _remember…_ " Peeves crooned lowly. "I remember the end of wizard-kind, boy. I saw the fires in the sky, the lightning that clashed without sound, and I could hear the screams of wizards from all across the land as they clambered to enter here, to escape their fate…" Peeves uncoiled slightly, his stolen scales scraping against each other. "Those that made it found  _me_ waiting _._ They had no right to enter my home, no right!"

"They shifted the castle into this chaotic dimension, and that's where you thrived…" Harry filled in. "So this was all some petty revenge?" he demanded. "You killed the last wizards when they were unable to flee from you, just because you could? And ever since then you've been locked up in here, alone. This castle wasn't turned into a trap for the enemy. It was done to keep  _you_ inside, wasn't it?"

Peeves laughed again, his wide smile splitting the scars on the Basilisk apart to reveal green underneath, unblemished reptilian skin buried beneath layers of grime. "Ah, the wizards gave me a kingdom to rule, and then they were afraid I would  _leave_ this place!" He shook his massive head. "They tried to flee, but the way out is closed. None will escape my home again..."

Grasping onto the word ' _again_ ' _,_ Harry hoped that meant there was a way out. He could fight a Basilisk,  _maybe_ , but this spirit wasn't a dumb beast as he had expected, nor was it the stupid prankster it had once been. Simple diversion tactics wouldn't work on him.

"Someone got out though, didn't they?" Harry said, relying on his hunch. "I can do the same!"

Peeves laughed, exposing gleaming teeth beneath his cancerous lips. "Ah, but you are not  _him,_ wizard! You did not build this prison, this paradise. You merely stumbled into it, a hapless morsel to add to my collection." He curled slowly as his head lowered. "In this world, I am a Nameless God, and you will learn that soon enough…"

"You are not a  _god,_ " Loki said with a sigh. "Presumptuous creature…"

"Presumption…" Harry echoed Loki's words, shivering. He was reminded of his foray into Death's realm, into the icy realm of Hel, where  _she_ had told him that there was only one thing which kept the unimaginably powerful forces of the universe in check. The might of Death herself was above everything. And yet, here was Peeves, gorging himself without end, perpetuating within a decaying world and growing like a tumor. It was as if...

"That's it…" he whispered, eyes wide.

_Death_ was the key. The creatures around him, twitching and mutated, suddenly made an awful amount of sense, and so did Peeves animating mere bones of long-dead wizards. These things were alive _,_  and though they could decay, but they  _would not die._ They were cancerous, impossible forms of life that should have been destroyed instantly in reality, but could survive in lost Hogwarts. And Peeves had been on the knife's edge all along, perpetuated by the castle but incapable of leaving its magical bounds. It was no wonder he'd been affected most of all, changed utterly by this place.

Unwittingly, in their last act of desperation, the wizards who had removed this castle from ordered reality had done far more than that. They'd broken through right out of the universe they were familiar with, into a realm outside the purview of even Death itself. They had achieved Voldemort's foolish dream without realizing it, found immortality. Just - without all the side-benefits that one would prefer. And now, lured in by prophecy and memory, Harry stood within the lost castle with the tools of Death herself, with its legendary relics. The Master of Death had come to a place where Death had no meaning at all.

Not yet.

Harry had the distinct feeling that the Grim Reaper had planned it all.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" Harry asked lowly, staring up at Peeves' massive form. Slowly, he reached into the cloak, shoving it aside to reveal the shimmering gem in the broach that kept it together. "Do you recognize this?" he demanded. "Do you feel the power that it holds?"

"What foolishness are you attempting now?" Loki asked, glancing over the Resurrection Stone without even a flicker of recognition. "Just kill the big creepy monster and get on with it, would you? There is no need to be theatrical..."

"You believe you hold  _power_ within your feeble hands _,_ wizard?" Peeves asked with a keening laugh that echoed around the Chamber. "What do you think your spells will accomplish against me, morsel? Your fire is cold as ice, your cuts are shallow. To one such as me, all your magic is but water on stone!"

"Maybe. But what about the _Killing Curse_?" Harry asked, raising the Elder Wand up high. "This wand I am holding was gifted to Antioch Peverell by Death herself! My cloak is Death's cloak!" He reached one hand to his chest. "And this stone was imbued with its power by its touch, able to reach the other side. They are things I own now, things I've fought for. Whatever else I am - I am in Death's good graces."

"You lie!" Peeves snarled, rearing back. "Death… Death has no power over me, either! It has no power over anything within my domain!"

"Hm… Care to test that theory?" Harry looked at his wand for a long moment, before he turned to the writhing form of Godric Gryffindor. The thing slowly rose to meet him, sword raised as if ready for battle. "Death might not have had power here before, Peeves," he said, and the serpent cried out in outrage. "But I brought her might to your doorstep. And I think she's pissed."

Harry knew what he had to do, even as a shudder of revulsion traveled down his back at the thought. He swished his wand down, dimly recalling the last time he'd raised his wand with such volatile intent, though the thought slipped away before he could grasp it. It had been before he'd traveled across worlds, before he'd left home. The thing before him wasn't alive, not in any meaningful sense, and he'd already torched the others to quivering ash, but it still took a long moment to speak the words out loud.

_"Avada Kedavra,_ " he said flatly, and the power  _surged_ through his wand, a flash of green that illuminated the Chamber in ghastly light. The sensation of something unimaginably huge and powerful passed him by, a shapeless inevitability that ripped apart the unstable peace that had persisted here for ages, though it wafted around him as warmth, too familiar to be entirely alien. He supposed he'd nearly died too often for it to truly scare him anymore.

Godric Gryffindor fell to the curse, the creatures which made up its form degrading into filth before they could release themselves from the bones. The Founder's sword clanged loudly as it hit the stones, and there was a loaded silence all around.

"Power over death, even among the deathless…" Loki whispered from his side, eyes wide. "Magnificent…"

Harry pulled back the Elder Wand, and he felt the energy of the Killing Curse still coursing through the air around him. "You see now, Peeves?" He asked to the eerily silent Chamber, staring up at the frozen serpent. "Death has power over you and your creations, as it has over all things, sooner or later. You  _don't_ want to challenge me, because I might get  _very_ desperate." He smiled mirthlessly, his cloak flaring around him as he looked at the spirit's grimace. "You could let me go - I might let you wallow in your... kingdom."

Silence persisted for a long moment, a breathless instant in which the Elder Wand seemed to burn in his hand, empowered, and something of the Killing Curse's energy wrapped around it, into it. Harry vaguely recognized that this was the first time he'd wielded all three Deathly Hallows together, the first time he'd even dared. It was also the first time, he reckoned, that he'd truly needed what they stood for. Would the curse have worked without them?

"You…" Peeves hissed at last, a snarl of rage overtaking his mouth. "You would bring  _death_ to my domain, lonely wizard?  _You_ would try to end  _me!?_ Your kind has learned nothing since the days of old!" His teeth gleamed brightly as he convulsed. "I will not be challenged in my home! You have no  _right!_ "

"Yes, tell us something we don't know…" Loki muttered, sighing.

"You're making a mistake here, Peeves," Harry said. "Because I  _do_ have that right. I am the last wizard, the only one who can enforce justice for all the murders you've committed. You're an abomination, an example of immortality gone wrong. I've had to deal with your kind before." He raised an eyebrow. "I am the only one that  _could_ end you, because I am the  _Master of Death_."

There was a brief moment of silence, and a stomach-churning, dreadful feeling hung in the air. The flash of a fearsome face seemed to glare down on him as Harry said those words, which made their way out of his mouth almost on their own. A distant cry sounded on the edge of hearing, a shiver of anticipation. It all vanished as soon as it appeared, leaving only a kernel of worried anticipation behind.

"You think yourself Death's Master?" Peeves asked through cracked lips. "Then die, wizard, and join it!" he cried, coiling in on himself, his rough scales searing across each other as they attempted to pulverize their foe. "Die, now!"

Harry yelled out in surprise, dragging himself onto the snake's skin directly behind him, before the small open space he'd been in was crushed into nothingness. Peeves thrashed around wildly, smashing his long body into the walls of the Chamber without care for what was destroyed. Whole sections of the ceiling simply fell and destroyed some the remaining statues, filling the air with dust. Harry held on for dear life as the serpent moved at great speed, rushing through the cavern and surrounding tunnels while scraping against the walls in an effort to toss him off.

" _Protego!"_ Harry cried out forcefully, and his swiftly-cast shield spell was the only reason he wasn't crushed against the wall, though the scraping whittled down what little power he'd managed to pour into it swiftly. Peeves snarled something from ahead, but it was too faint to make out. " _Protego Maxima!"_ Harry tried again, wincing against the rock dust that was blown into his face, trying to find leverage on the uneven surface of the serpent's massive back.

"Okay, this is way too familiar…" Harry sputtered as he dragged himself forward by the snake's scales, using the edges as footholds as he kept up his shield charm which screeched with a sound like metal on stone mere inches above his head. Even with the Killing Curse, he would have to get up close and personal because he had no clue if it would work on a creature the size of a Basilisk, or if Peeves even counted as the same thing. A poltergeist was supposed to be immortal, but was it really? Would the Hallows work even on the unkillable, as it had on the Inferi before? Were they the  _reason_ it had worked?

"Well, this is just cozy, isn't it?" Loki commented from right besides him as the snake corkscrewed around a hallway, and Harry glanced up in surprise, noting that the Asgardian was simply standing on the snake's back, utterly unbothered by the fact that he'd regularly disappear halfway into rock and dust. "I'm unharmed. I am in your head, remember?"

"And I'm a little busy," Harry managed to get out between coughs, trying to stick to Peeves' scaly skin as the massive snake turned again in a new direction.

"Still alive then, wizard?" Peeves' voice resounded from afar. "You will make a fine part of my collection, you will. Try not to break too many bones…" The serpent suddenly veered off sideways into a narrow corridor, scraping its middle along the wall as Harry held on tight. There was no real way to tell up from down, and he had to rely on his sticking charms, hoping to figure something out before his breath ran out and he was ground to dust against the wall.

"Loki," Harry sputtered with difficulty. "Warn me of any turns coming up. I climb… you play watchdog." He tried for a grin. "Seems like it's up your alley."

The Asgardian stared down for a moment with narrowed eyes, as if unsure whether or not Harry was insulting him, before reluctantly nodding. "...Done."

Peeves didn't stop for a moment, rushing through the tunnels deep beneath Hogwarts and crashing through the extensive network that spread out from the Chamber without caring even for himself. Harry climbed, dragging himself along the Basilisk's rugged scales as his spell kept him mostly safe, though stone splinters occasionally slashed across his skin. There was no way to keep track of how far he had to go, nor to trace how far he'd come.

For several long minutes, Harry pushed himself ever forward, forcing himself to keep moving even as he cut himself repeatedly on razor-sharp scales. Pain ceased to be anything more than an annoyance, and all he could think of was finishing what he started. He didn't look at Loki, and the Asgardian simply muttered a warning every so often, for once without sarcasm. Harry trusted that signal, because he had no other choice.

A few times, he almost forgot he was on the creature's back, so caught up in focusing on where to put his next hand that he imagined himself back in the sky, taking a ride on mankind's worst weapon, straddling the top of the atmosphere. Strangely, it was a calming delusion, perhaps because he'd made it through that time.

Finally, startlingly, Peeves cried out again from very nearby, a strangled curse of outrage that was joined by jagged feelers which reached backwards across its body towards the stowaway. Harry's severing curse flung out to meet them mid-way, and he dragged himself up onto his knees with effort. Liquid fire poured out of his wand in a white-hot wave of molten destruction that engulfed the blackened tendrils until they twisted away from the spell's heat.

The head was near, then - the end was near. Harry saw the bloated growth ahead, the form that Peeves had been degraded to, covered in writhing undifferentiated flesh. If only he could keep going for a few more minutes, he could end it. He raised his wand, and it flared green without a word, a clear statement of intent. "I will do it, Peeves!" Harry yelled out as steadily as he could, keeping himself stable with one hand. "You're not a spirit anymore, not really. Whatever you are now, I bet it can  _die!_ "

"No! I will not let you kill me! _"_ Peeves cried, and the Basilisk's head, just ahead, erupted into a multitude of jagged tentacles and spikes. "You have no right to harm a  _god!_ "

"If it's any consolation, you could probably get away with punching me," Loki informed Harry mildly. "...If I weren't illusionary, of course. Bothersome, that."

The wizard rolled his eyes, refusing to look over to the self-indulgent god in favor of the outright delusional one. He couldn't let up now, couldn't go back on his words. The shambling shapes of the Founders were all too fresh in his memories, and he knew what Peeves had done to them - that he'd long crossed the line from prankster to killer. He could call it vengeance, perhaps, or a long-delayed mercy killing. It didn't matter.

_"Avada -"_  Harry started, but the snake bucked upwards and Harry almost lost his wand as the violent movement nearly ripped him entirely from the creature's back. Serrated tentacles reached for his legs, attempting to ensnare him and drag him away, even as creatures of chaos swarmed across Peeves' skin, deformed things that seemed to splatter under the snake's coils before grasping onto its skin as the thing raced around another corner.

"You will die here, wizard! Your pathetic Muggle world has been cut off from you, and this place is mine alone! You can enter, but you can never leave!"

Harry snapped off a cutting curse to get rid of the maggot-like creatures that were attempting to reach for his ankles, and grasped his wand more tight. "Peeves! You've already said someone escaped!" he shouted back. "You're lying!"

" _But_ he _did not leave for Earth!"_ Peeves snarled, and he attacked in the stunned moment that followed. A dozen poison-tipped blades of jagged bone stabbed into Harry's shield charm only to shatter into dozens more. Harry cringed back under the assault, fatigue starting to catch up to him as he poured more fire across the impermeable skin. "The boy threw himself into the stream!" Peeves cried with raucous laughter. "He escaped my grasp to face annihilation!"

"...The stream?" Harry stammered. "What is…?"

"He means Yggdrasil," Loki said in surprise.

Yggdrasil - that was the place where Harry had entered the new world, but it was  _more_ than that, too. It was a connection between many places, as Sif had told him - a nexus of sorts. And if you had the right tools to make the trip, you could go pretty much anywhere.

_Anywhere._

"The stream will not be your fate… You wish me to give up my playthings for the momentary pleasure of seeing you dissolve into ashes?" Peeves cried back, scraping his monstrous head against the wall and jostling his occupant once more. "No. You will tire in time, and then you will be crushed beneath my might, pulverized until all you can do is cry for mercy, forever!"

"I don't think so," Harry spat, and he raised his hand, grasping the snake's skin tight as a new spell formed on the wand's tip. The overpowered blasting curse seared directly upwards into the rock above him, a jagged line of power that lasted for a long, long instant. There was an explosion of sound, and light, and shattered rock. As if it had been waiting for the opportunity, a massive section of the tunnel's ceiling collapsed in on itself with a thundering roar, and Peeves only barely cleared the destruction with his head, before the deluge of rock landed on his huge body.

Peeves' cry of agony was instantaneous, his wail echoing loudly as the serpent's progress was slowed nearly to a halt. There was a snapping sound, as if something under high tension had suddenly given in, and the Basilisk's maw opened wide. Its  _real_ maw, massive and filled to the brim with scythe-like teeth, and far too familiar for comfort. The beast shuddered, momentarily aware of what was going on and clearly in incredible pain. Before it could do anything, though, the mouth was caught in twisting tentacles, but Harry had seen the pristine skin underneath. He had seen the truth.

"You said you were a parasite,  _once_ ," Harry observed slowly, wincing as the snake's head turned slightly to observe him. Peeves' former grin turned into a horrific snarl. "You were weak, you said - but you  _still are!_ You never killed the Basilisk at all, did you?" Harry demanded. "The Basilisk isn't some kind of Inferi. You're just  _possessing_ it!" He smiled dangerously. "Which means you're not the monster. You're just a passenger. And while I might not be able to one-shot the snake, I can certainly end  _you_."

" _NO!"_ Peeves protested. "NEVER! I will not let you kill me!" he screamed, any semblance of control gone as its twisted grimace turned sour on the snake's face. "Not by a wizard! Never a wizard!" The massive head of the Basilisk twisted slightly as the creature upon its face stopped in his tracks, tentacles hanging limply. Then the massive lump of scar tissue  _let go_ the tiniest bit, severed connections as Peeves rushed back from two specific spots.

_"Oh, bollocks._ Loki, drop!" Harry cried, throwing himself down onto the serpent's back again with his eyes squeezed closed. There came no answer. Harry fearfully glanced behind him, and found the Asgardian standing stock-still on the snake's back, his mouth opened slightly, his eyes glazed over in shock. There was nothing to say; it was too late already.

The god vanished without a word.

_Double bollocks._

The Basilisk's murderous gaze seared across the Invisibility Cloak, tangible enough that Harry could  _feel_ it pass over him, and all around him Harry saw the creatures of shadow and flesh crumble and die, shuddering only once as they were forced to retreat. "This power is  _mine!_ " Peeves cried manically. "I am the Master of Death now!" he added gleefully.

"Bloody hell…" Harry muttered, unable to aim too precisely for fear of catching the snake's gaze. He shot a few Conjunctivitis Curses in the general direction of the thing's head, sticking himself to its scaly hide as it rolled again and again against the stones in an attempt to force him to look up, to make him react. This couldn't last very long - he had to do  _something._

" _Accio sword,"_ Harry whispered as he thought of his first face-off with the Baslisk, and he kept his eyes tightly closed, desperately glad that the snake couldn't twist its head around to bite him like last time. " _Accio Gryffindor's sword!"_ he snapped furiously when nothing came to him, grimacing as he wiped blood out of his eyes.

Finally, the shining steel weapon slammed into his hand pommel-first, and it seemed to shudder with blood-lust. Harry wasn't sure if he could come close enough to actually kill the Basilisk, but he had to try something, and the sword had worked before. He grasped the hilt with both hands, his wand dangling between two fingers, and thrust the blade down deep between two scales into the snake's back, as far as it would go.

"Nooo!" Peeves howled in protest, and the Basilisk's keening cries joined him, a sharp sound of shock and pain that could only mean one thing. He'd hit more than bone, sliced through more than skin. Harry dragged the bloodied blade back out and stabbed again, embedding the wicked sword almost halfway to the hilt - it was unbelievably sharp, slicing into the hard skin without effort. It took three stabs before he could feel something give again, before the snake shuddered in hopeless agony.

These wounds wouldn't be enough. Not nearly. He'd severed nerves, perhaps, or even the thing's spine - but Peeves had shown he could rebuild the dead. If he killed the serpent here, it would merely return stronger, more monstrous, and under malevolent control. Soon, Peeves would manage to release the snake's body from the rocks, or perhaps force him to  _see,_ and die by the Basilisk's gaze _._ He had to separate the two, divorce the snake from its possessor. Either that - or he had to escape. It wasn't a pretty option, but he didn't have many good options anymore.

The stream that Loki had identified as Yggdrasil,  _that_ had to be the key. It was the way that someone  _else_ had taken, once upon a time, to escape from this place. It was a death sentence, perhaps, but staying in this fallen Hogwarts was certainly not an option. The problem was he had no idea how to find the place, and Loki had vanished before he could tell, dead or petrified.

The only thing Harry knew about Yggdrasil's nature from Sif was that it was the way the Asgardians came to Earth - a sort of interdimensional connection, styled after the same mystical tree that Harry had used to arrive in his new world. Perhaps it was the same  _between_ that he'd been in, in that instant after he left and before he arrived. The place where he'd seen Sirius again.

Except this time he didn't want to go to a random place in the multiverse, tossed wherever the wind would take him. No - he wanted to go  _back_ to the one he'd ended up in by chance _._ There was only one magical mode of transportation that seemed to echo Sif's description of the Bifrost, which crossed Yggdrasil. Which meant he would need the mother of all Portkeys to break out, to throw himself free. Joy.

He knew what he needed to make such a thing - a  _connection_. Something that bound him to the place he wanted to go to, since that's how he'd intended to go back home to his own world, if he ever decided to. Regular objects could be Portkeys - but nothing of this scale could be accomplished with an old boot. He needed something more powerful, but all his magical artefacts were from the old world, or from this fallen Hogwarts - not from the new Earth. He'd never really anticipated so many  _Muggles_.

"You cannot remain back there forever, wizard," Peeves murmured dangerously, his writhing tentacles staying out of harm's way, doubtlessly waiting just out of the reach of the Basilisk's gaze, ready to strike at the instant that it closed its eyes. The rocks moved behind Harry, slowly giving up their captive. "If you cast your deadly spell, all you will do is enrage my host… and it will  _devour_ you!"

"Really? I'll take that risk!" Harry snapped.  _"Avada Kedavra!"_ The spell's green glow was visible even through his eyelids as Harry cast blindly in the voice's direction - there was a wet plop as something fell, died.

"And so the slaves fall for their master…" Peeves said smugly. "And the Master survives."

Peeves was not stupid - he'd recognized that Harry's spell could be stopped by solid objects, and there were many wicked creatures hiding out of sight, twisted shapes like the Inferi, undying slaves to the spirit's will. The Killing Curse would still probably work - but only if he could get near Peeves himself, the part of him that was real, and not just an extension of him. Which was not going to happen.

For once, he could have used Loki's suggestions. Go figure.

Harry's breath hitched suddenly, as that thought lingered. Loki.  _Asgard._ Another world that bordered Yggdrasil, or where it sprang from - and one that Hogwarts had never been deliberately cut off from. He dropped one hand into his expanded pocket, drawing out something he'd almost forgotten, hidden in one of the folds. A dagger - Sif's dagger.

"Oh, you're bloody brilliant," he murmured as he realized what he'd received from the Asgardian. He'd been given a part of her world - something that had been enchanted by Odin himself, infused with the same magic that Loki manipulated. She'd given him the key to Asgard, knowing full well that he could use it. Perhaps even that he  _would_ use it. "I could  _kiss_ you right now."

It was a small blessing that Loki wasn't around to hear that. Harry knew he would have never heard the end of it.

There was only one thing he was missing for his potential Portkey, now: Power. Breaking through wards needed the work of multiple wizards, and doing something as insane as Portkeying across worlds - that needed  _lots_ of them. Or at least, their sheer magical force. Harry knew he had his source right under him. The Basilisk was a thousand-year old creature, unnaturally strong from Peeves' interference, and a well of magic untapped for centuries. Its magical strength was enough to permit the spirit to make Inferi that remembered parts of their life - if the snake didn't have the magic necessary to make the trip,  _nothing_ did.

"Last chance, Peeves," Harry murmured as he raised his wand again, his eyes closed as he faced the spirit. "Or maybe not. Goodbye." He focused, pouring all his intent into a single spell, one that had occurred to him mere moments before.  _"Accio Peeves."_

"What -" Peeves asked in confusion, an instant before his bulbous mass suddenly  _moved -_ ripped free from the Basilisk's face, his monstrous shape slid in front of the snake's lethal eyes for an instant, and covered the sockets. The deadly gaze  _burned_ through as the spirit cried in agony. Peeves did not die instantly - he was too strong for that - but all around his blackened flesh tore inwards in a panic, a hail of jagged claws and serrated spines that tried to grasp some foothold, tried to get rid of the enemy with mindless ferocity. The snake's eyes did not survive the onslaught for long as foot-long eye-stalks with teeth were sheltered from the deadly eyes before they tore inwards and mangled them. " _Noooo!"_

Harry opened his eyes as the deadly gaze vanished, grasping Sif's knife and stabbing it down deep into the snake's flesh, right besides Gryffindor's sword.

" _Die, wizard! DIE!_ " Peeves cried out as he grew, gathered together, transforming from a mere growth into something more recognizable - an inhumanly thin bipedal shape with fiery eyes and long, curled claws, covered from head to toe in the creatures that he called his own. Inferi shambled into the hallway from every direction, former wizards or more monstrosities piled onto each other, corrupted shapes of former wizards turned to puppets. "You will die at my hand, wizard!" he cried anew. "Here, now!"

"I have only one thing to say to you," Harry answered laboriously, grinning for a moment. " _Portus._ "

The castle vanished in a kaleidoscopic rainbow of light and sound. The enraged cry of Peeves echoed after Harry long after he was gone. It cried for  _vengeance_.

* * *

Sif leaned back from her meal, glancing to Volstagg with mild disgust as he tore into his meat with his teeth, ripping flesh off the bone without even the slightest attempt at decorum. She wished he was an exception and sighed to herself. She'd never felt cooped up in Asgard before - she'd spent decades without ever bothering with any of the other worlds, content with peace. Now, however, sitting at the dinner table with a flagon of mead seemed so terribly boring and obligatory.

"My lady - do I bore you?" Fandral inquired, and she distantly realized she'd been talking to him before her attention wandered. She managed an embarassed half-smile in response, and he cocked his head to the side curiously. "Dreaming of Midgard again, eh?"

"It's not that," Sif murmured, frowning. "I feel responsible. I traveled to the other world with a warning, and offered my steel... I vowed to help them in their time of need. To retreat behind the walls of Asgard feels like betrayal, even if it was commanded." She looked away darkly. "Heimdall does not set my mind at ease, either. He seems... uneasy. He sees things that he tells none but the All-Father."

"So, he's distant? Because that's how he usually is," Fandral said snidely. "As for the vow you made, I hardly believe that this Seidmadr, this... wizard... would expect you to break all bonds and duties. No vow is greater than the ones all Asgardians swear."

"Perhaps," Sif responded lightly. "But on the battlefield, bonds of shed blood matter more. It was a person of Midgard, ungifted with any special talent, who went into battle with me, despite knowing the risks involved. He had done so many times before. Steven Tyler died at my side, honorably, and never did he cry out in hopelessness or fear. He even saw my presence as... comforting, perhaps." She sighed. "Why did we ever leave, Fandral? Why did Asgard cut all ties with Midgard, knowing that its people are just as capable of virtue as any of us?"

Fandral frowned, but did not immediately answer. Volstagg was still eating happily, but it was clear by his occasional glances that he'd been following the conversation keenly. Further along the table, near the very end, Thor was staring across the table.

"Where is Prince Loki?" Sif asked slowly. "I would have thought -"

"He and Thor had another fight," Fandral muttered. "Don't know what it was about, but I reckon Loki's off sulking somewhere. Those two never manage very long without a fight, anyway." He raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason you ask?"

"No..." She blinked when it seemed as if there was a tremor in the air, as if she very slightly moved while everything else remained still around her. It was - a sensation that she vaguely recognized, though she'd never felt it anywhere except in the - "...Bifrost?" she murmured in confusion. She stood up, staring at the table as it shuddered again - but nobody seemed to notice but her.

"Lady Sif?" Fandral inquired, astonished. "Was it something I said?"

She shivered as the distant rumble turned into a screeching wound - the world wobbled around her with an energy that she recognized, as if something was dragging itself to her, using her as an anchor. Something  _big._

"Get back!" she yelled as she pushed the table away with all the strength she could manage. Thor flung himself from his seat, and so did several others. There was no time to deliver warnings, to explain what was happening, before the universe seemed to rend itself apart, turned inwards as a little piece of Yggdrasil became  _visible_ in the air. And beyond it, beyond the edge of Asgard, something gigantic was making its way through. The cries of shock were quickly drowned out by an impossibly loud groaning, creaking noise, as if space itself could not handle the stress.

Then the tension snapped, and a monstrous beast burst into the room. It was easily a hundred feet long or more, and it descended upon the hall all scales and blood and teeth, coiling and twisting as it fell without any sense of direction, crushing and grinding tables and food under its massive bulk as Asgardians threw themselves out of the way. Thor was the first to react, grasping his hammer and raising it to fight, just as the creature shuddered and ground to a halt. Its entire body dominated the hall, leaving only the walls as safe refuge.

Atop the snake's head, a small figure raised itself up to face Thor, half-invisible beneath a cloak that seemed to hide his very being, and Sif couldn't hold in a grin when she realized who it was. His clothes were smoldering and blood was pouring from wounds all across his face and arms, but Harry seemed to be intact. In one hand, he held the sword that was buried deep into the serpent's spine, paralyzing the beast, while in the other he held his wand. Power still surged around him in waves, a kaleidoscopic echo of Yggdrasil that slowly faded away as he turned, and more than a few former diners stared in awe.

Harry's eyes wandered momentarily before they sought Sif out, and he smiled radiantly. "Ah - hi. Sorry to barge in."

The stunned silence persisted for another long, long moment.

"Seidmadr. You are brash - like your forebears," a voice spoke deliberately, and silence rippled out across the hall as Odin All-Father entered, decked in his golden armor, with two ravens resting upon the shining spear that he held out in front of him. His one-eyed gaze cut through the tension like a knife, and came to rest on Harry. "I would commend you for your - impressive achievement on other days, wizard. However, I have yet to decide if you will live through this one."

From behind him, two more Asgardians stepped in the room, with a frozen shape suspended between them on a stretcher. Thor cried out in surprise as he realized who lay there, and Sif was scarcely any less shocked. It was Prince Loki, one arm raised and frozen in place, his face as pale as a corpse and staring into nothingness.

"What have you done to my son?" Odin demanded frostily, his knuckles whitening around his weapon. "Answer  _quickly._ "


	33. This Must be Thor's Day

Harry did not mind the silence, really - he'd learned to appreciate it in the wake of his Hogwarts years, when everyone wanted a piece of him. What he didn't care for was the mind-numbing  _boredom_ that sometimes accompanied it. He figured Sirius would have had a few choice comments about the Asgardian prison system - considerably nicer than Azkaban, but with less excitement, and a distinct shortage of chow.

Harry sighed as he stared at the ceiling. Three sides of his cell were a featureless grey, unadorned by even the most meagre of decorations, and the last was a shimmering wall of energy that purred warningly when approached. He'd seen the violent shocks dancing across the surface when the guards activated it, so he had no interesting in testing what it felt like.

He made do with staring balefully at whatever was closest.

Harry occupied himself mostly with idle thoughts of comfortable chairs, and good beds, and having food in his stomach - none of which were particularly likely to waft his way, right this moment. All he had to read was a thick tome left to him by his Asgardian hosts, who hardly seemed a particularly scholarly lot. Unfortunately it was written in some language Harry didn't know the first thing about. He  _almost_ felt sorry he'd never paid attention to Hermione when she went off on a spiel about her Ancient Runes homework.

Judging by the pictures, at least, the book was mostly concerned with capital offenses and the terrible punishments that were doled out for them. He had the distinct feeling Umbridge and Filch would have thoroughly approved.

Getting up from his stone-hard cot, Harry busied himself by pacing slowly past the shimmering forcefield. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected to find after his harrowing escape from Hogwarts, riding his Basilisk into an alien mead hall. That would take a bit to explain, he figured. Maybe it had been optimistic to assume Sif was a fair representative of her people. To make matters worse, of course, the only one who could probably have talked him out of trouble - Prince Loki - was presently doing a very convincing imitation of a statue.

Getting imprisoned was honestly a bit disappointing. Harry had expected that the Norse Gods of legend would have tolerated a proper mess better than most. Didn't Loki give birth to a horse in the old legends Tony had mentioned? Something about Thor crossdressing, too? Transdimensional serpent-surfing seemed positively mild in comparison.

"One thing's for sure - this is definitely my kind of mess," Harry mumbled to himself, vaguely waving his hands at the discarded books, idly trying to determine if he'd spontaneously developed a knack for wandless spells. Alas - no. Both of his wands had been taken alongside the rest of his possessions, and without those he couldn't hope to escape from this place. Even if he were able to apparate from his cell, there was no place in Asgard he knew well enough to reach.

"Hello? Anyone out there?" Harry called out for at least the twentieth time, as his stomach rumbled in distress. "Can I get some snacks, at least?" he called hopefully, listening for footsteps. Nothing. He'd hoped for a visit from Sif, at least. "Some hospitality you have!" he added impatiently. "Wizards need to eat, you know!"

All this could have been avoided, he decided vindictively, if not for Loki's bloody refusal to just  _listen_. He had told that good-for-nothing god about the Basilisk's stare, and he'd taken no precautions. In one stroke he'd consigned Harry to prison, and possibly signed his own obituary as well. Harry had _no idea_ where to find a Mandrake in this universe. Marvelous.

And then there was Earth - or the version of it he'd been getting used to, at least. Tony was due to appear for some kind of complicated legal challenge that might require a memory charm or two - just to keep people out of trouble, to be sure - and Bruce was still dealing with his Hulk issues, probably coming to terms with finally having some measure of control over his transformation. Harry had been out of contact with them for a while now, and they had no way to reach Asgard. Even if the Earth was in danger, there'd be no way to tell.

It was a spine-chilling realization, specially given the ominous words of Sif and the spectre of Death herself. Prophecies or not - he had a feeling that staying away too long was a  _bad_ idea.

"Wizard."

"Merlin's left -" Harry blurted involuntarily, flinching back from the huge shape that suddenly loomed in front of his cell. The eyes of the towering figure blazed from behind long blond hair and a winged helmet, and a crimson cloak wrapped around him. At his waist hung a large warhammer, proclaiming his identity to all who approached. This was Prince Thor, the Norse God of Thunder, in the flesh.

Okay, Potter - what to say to an incarnation of myth?

"Well, you're a big one," Harry said, and he cringed as he tried to smile. "I mean… we kind of started off on the wrong foot. Sorry about that whole affair with the snake," he added. "I sort of, kind of, apologize for dumping a fabled creature of legend into your house. It happens to me a lot. I'll try to miss, next time. Not that there will be one. Obviously."

Well, that had gone just  _great!_

Thor hummed under his breath. "Verily," the Prince murmured dryly, surveying the empty cell for a moment before considering the book that lay abandoned next to the chair. His gaze returned to Harry's. "You do not seem overly worried about your fate."

"Uh, worried?" Harry blinked owlishly. "Should I be? You kind of… just tossed me in here and told me to wait. I didn't do anything that would warrants trouble, right? I'll pay for the silverware and the spilled drinks, you know. I'll vanish the mess myself!"

Thor rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his wide chest. "You slew a monster the likes of which Asgard has not seen in a thousand years or more - a feat to be sung off over good ale and joyous laughter," he said pensively. "Yet… you also entered Asgard without permission, breaking through its defenses as if they were paper. Others have noticed the disruption, and will certainly attempt to take advantage of the breach." He gestured vaguely behind him as he said, "Forty Einherjar stand guard, their blades prepared to test the blood of any who are foolish enough to enter."

"The breach?"

Thor narrowed his eyes. "Yes. You tore into Asgard through the paths of Yggdrasil itself - and wounds bleed, and fester. It will take time for Yggdrasil to heal, even if its weaknesses are cauterized."

Harry nodded slowly. "Ah, I suppose it  _was_ a bit of an extreme portkey adventure," he allowed. He recalled the moment after he'd used Sif's knife, and before he'd dropped bodily into Asgard, he'd spent an instant in between the two places _._ The kaleidoscopic chaos of the Portkey had still been there, but so had something  _else_. It watched him as he passed through, resembling something of an echo of what Peeves had become. Whatever it was… Harry was glad to be away from there, out of its reach. Too many angles on that one.

"The Allfather will see to your judgment," Thor observed gravely. "I must admit, however, that you are not as I expected. The Lady Sif spoke to me of the last of the Midgard wizards, and I expected a mighty warrior from her words - imposing, at least in stature, wielding the tools of his trade with skill. For a minute I saw, perhaps, what she might've meant, as you stood astride that monstrous beast you slew." He sighed. "Then you opened your fool mouth."

"There's no need to be insulting." Harry fidgeted. "Look, I'd just gotten myself out of a bit of a pickle, so pardon me for not being courteous," he muttered. "You might've noticed my attention was elsewhere. I was  _busy._ "

"Busy travelling the roads of ruin with my wayward brother," Thor agreed coldly. "Loki has chosen to move by his sorcerous roads before, but not like this. I'd never have expected him to share the company of Midgardians, though perhaps he was merely intrigued by your ancestry." He frowned darkly. "It matters not how he met his present fate - just that he did. My father will require an explanation. A good one, if you treasure your life."

"...Well, it was his own bloody fault," Harry spat under his breath, a little of his righteous ire bleeding through. "Call me an idiot all you like, but your brother's got me beat in that department!" He shook his head in exasperation. "Follow me into hell? Sure, he's up for that. Listening to me while we're there? Not so much!"

"You would shirk your responsibility so easily?" Thor asked dangerously.

"Well, it wasn't  _my_ fault, was it?"He met Thor's implacable gaze again. "You have to understand - Loki looked into the eyes of death, and the only reason he's not a smelly corpse right now is that he was there only in  _spirit_. He's been petrified. I knew this would happen, too - everyone has to pull out a camera or a mirror or something and check around the corner..."

"Petrification," Thor repeated. "We surmised that already. Asgard has dealt with the dangers of petrification before. Lady Lorelei, sister of Amora, could bestow such a fate with a mere kiss." He relaxed slightly, releasing his tight grip on his hammer. "You will cure Loki of his ailment, of course."

Harry cringed. "Right, about that..."

"You will  _not_?" the Prince demanded dangerously, his eyes just barely peeking out from the shadow of his shining helm. "You are not in a position to refuse, wizard. You will return me my brother - or things will go badly for you."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, flustered. "It's… it's not like that. To make the antidote, I need a plant, a substance." He tried to recall what he'd learned about Mandrakes, and where to find them. Herbology had never been very relevant to his work, though he'd never admit that to Neville. He'd honestly been trying to forget the nightmarish creations that they'd been studying towards the end of the class. "Does Asgard know about Mandrakes? Mandragora? It has a root that kind of looks like a small person, and it cries if uprooted. The cry might kill you - or it would kill a human, anyway." He hesitated. "Maybe you know someplace where they still grow, away from Earth?"

Thor shook his head. "You ask for a crying  _plant_? No, I cannot say that I know any such fantastic thing. I should inquire about it with L-" His face fell. "Regardless, we do not grow plants which the Seidhr treasured, nor the creatures they tended to - they were of Midgard, and felt most at home there. I do not know if any still remain alive."

"Well, that's just great!" Harry complained, quite intent on cursing the whims of fate. "So magic is dead, and I'm the one getting in trouble for it. I'm literally the only one that  _wasn't_ involved in all of this! Why do I  _always_ get the short stick?"

"Know that no Asgardian would have slain an ally. We were not involved," Thor said. His iron expression didn't budge as he turned away from the cell. "Prepare your answers, wizard - the Allfather will require them all. And perhaps your life as well."

"Now, hold on a -" Harry started, but Thor stalked off with heavy steps, ignoring the wizard's half-formed sentence. Soon he was alone again, staring at that same blank wall of energy, listening to the footsteps fading into the distance until everything was silent.

Bloody brilliant work, Potter.

* * *

It wasn't until the next day, which Harry spent by imagining a particularly riveting game of Quidditch that just so happened to last a solid eight hours, that Harry was finally retrieved and led along the opulent hallways of Asgard's palace. He imagined he'd fallen asleep partway through, but honestly that was how things went half the time he went to watch the Chudley Cannons. (He would never let Ron know he'd charmed his eyelids.)

Neither Sif nor Thor were anywhere to be found; two new faces came to pick him up instead. The first was a portly man with a bright red beard and a plume of bright feathers streaming from his helmet, and he seemed the jovial sort - the other man reminded Harry of Lockhart, as his neatly trimmed blond beard and mustache did little to cover up his haughty expression.

Harry decided that even if he were on his way to a scaffold - and he really hoped not - he might as well take a look around a more interesting parts of Odin's palace. He had only gotten a glimpse the previous day, as someone had seen fit to blindfold him before he'd even gotten out of the dining hall. This time, they didn't bother with such precautions. He decided not to think about the possibility that dead people rarely blabbed about what they'd seen.

Asgard was…  _ostentatious._ If Hogwarts was stately and magical, then Asgard was like the Headmaster's office writ large. Almost no surface was unadorned, covered in either precious metals or sprawling images of conquering warriors. Every larger-than-life chamber housed similarly oversized statues and equipment, and guards wore elaborate golden-hued armor with decorated helmets. Glimpses of the outside, witnessed through windows and open doors at the far side of corridors, showed a momentary image of a similarly grand city. Harry had a feeling that he'd have felt a lot more awed if he hadn't been shackled by his wrists and pushed along to his possible execution.

He also, secretly, missed all the strange little knick-knacks that had given Dumbledore's place some character. This place was grand - put very impersonal.

"Come now, Fandral," the broad figure blurted at last as he led Harry down a long, curving hallway that shimmered silver. "We can't just  _not_ fulfill our promises, right…? What would the Lady say?"

"Volstagg, you should hold your tongue!" Fandral snapped. "And if you must shout, can you at least do it  _quietly?_ "

"I don't think you know what -"

"Sh! You know as well as I that the Lady Sif holds no authority over the King." A small smile played around the corners of Fandral's mouth as he glanced at Harry. "She cannot force us to deliver her message of patience, nor convey her continued attempts to resolve the wizard's unfortunate incarceration. You know that. The King's word is law."

Volstagg grumbled as Fandral smiled. "I s'pose…"

Harry inclined his head in recognition, considering the blond figure who once more looked steadfastly ahead through the halls, keeping up his straight posture but moving only slowly. He wasn't Lockhart, then - or not far beyond the surface. Maybe he was what Sirius might have been, if not for what happened. Silly - but also good-hearted.

It seemed the two Asgardians had slowed down some on their way to Odin, perhaps to delay the inevitable confrontation. Sif had not given up, it seemed, and even though she wasn't nearly the big shot Harry might've imagined, it was better than nothing. Compared to the stern and unyielding Thor, he'd much rather throw his lot in with her.

"Egads, I think we've never formally introduced ourselves!" Volstagg suddenly declared. "We didn't, did we?" He demanded, but he didn't wait for answer before rising up to his full height and width. "Behold, wizard, for you are speaking to Volstagg the Great! And Fandral the...also sort of great-ish. We are mighty! We can hear a fly buzzing from sixteen leagues away! We ready for battle at the rumble of a frost giant farting on the far side of the tallest mountain! Lesser men tremble before us!"

"I wonder if they tremble because the ground does?" Fandral said dryly. "Must you let everyone hear your endless boasting, oh Enormous One?"

"Shush now, Fandral the Foppish!" Volstagg harrumphed, turning back to Harry. "Don't mind the tall one - he's a spoilsport."

"I am not!"

Volstagg rolled his eyes, before a strange, considering expression appeared on his face. "You know… there's something that's been on my mind," he admitted after a moment. "They say you're a Seidmadr," he noted, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "You're supposed to be a magic man from the old stories, like a legend returned to life," he continued. "Your people all died, the Allfather said - so where did  _you_ crawl out from? What hole did the King forget to delve into?"

"Don't be rude!" Fandral chided. "What Volstagg the Voluminous wishes to know -" He hissed something uncomplimentary when the broader man protested. "That is, we are curious why nobody heard from your kin in nearly a millennium. We had given up on your survival, I'm afraid, like so many races of old who have slipped away..."

"I understand your curiosity," Harry started carefully. "The truth is, I'm actually kind of the  _only_ wizard - or Seidhr, as you call us." He received two incredulous stares. "That is, I don't think there's been any living wizard in centuries, or much of anything else in the way of magic. I'm not exactly from  _Midgard,_ as you call it." Not this one, at least. "I caused a bit of a stir when I arrived, I suppose."

"So it is true - you travel through Yggdrasil!" Fandral decided, and Harry started, thinking back to the road between worlds that he'd taken what now seemed years ago. "That's right! We heard Heimdall speak about your travels through its periphery, transporting yourself without the aid of the Bifrost and sometimes vanishing from his sight entirely. That's an impressive feat, it must be said, especially when performed by a mortal!" He hesitated. "That is - you  _are_ mortal, right?"

"As far as I know," Harry agreed, considering his memory of meeting the incarnation of Death itself. "No final answer yet, but I've had a few close calls in finding out..." He raised an eyebrow at Fandral's curious expression. "You know, on the battlefield."

Volstagg laughed goodnaturedly. "The  _battlefield,_ indeed? So you are a warrior after all! But you are so very small and dreadfully thin for a fighter!"

"Honestly, given his entrance into Asgard I should think that his martial might was obvious," Fandral observed dryly. "It is not easy to slay a great beast with a mere length of steel."

Harry frowned. Those final moments were still tinged with a terror that he'd only barely shaken. One of the only things that stood out, though, was the gleaming silver he'd wielded for the second time. "I think I should feel offended that you call it a  _mere_ anything," he said in thanks to the blade. "It's the sword of Godric Gryffindor. It's got a history."

"Ohoh!" Volstagg rumbled. "So you fashion it a weapon of legend, do you?"

Harry had never really thought about the sword since Neville had taken it in the last moments of the war with Voldemort. Back home it might've been a curiosity, a relic of another time, but in this time and place it was one of only a few enchanted items which still survived, a remnant of Goblin skill. Imbued with Basilisk venom once more, it truly was one of a kind. If anything could be called legendary, it was probably that sword.

"It's had songs sung about it - though don't ask me to repeat them," Harry said at last. "It does its job."

Volstagg chuckled mirthfully. "I doubt your spindly arms could even swing it!"

"Leave the Seidmadr be - and wait a moment," Fandral said. They halted in a long hallway framed on both sides by white pillars and frescoes of some great battle between hulking beasts of ice and red-haired men wielding axes. The foppish man idly stroked his beard as he ensured they were alone. "Before we go in… there are some warnings that I should deliver, by the Lady Sif's leave. She was under the impression that you might offend Asgardian sensibilities with your mannerisms. She thought we should prevent an... incident."

"Might've been better to come earlier," Harry replied lamely. "Thor already came for a chat."

Fandral winced, then gave him a pitying expression. "Ah. Firstly, remember the Prince's title. Though his friends might call him by his given name, he could take umbrage at a stranger doing the same in his own home. Also, do not bring up your interactions with the Lady Sif, and  _never_ insinuate that his brother was responsible for anything, as he would assume you were shifting blame to those who cannot defend themselves."

Harry stared. "Yeah. Okay. I will avoid those things going forward."

"Hm. You look a bit on the pale side - maybe you need a good drink to pepper you up," Volstagg suggested, grinning. "It always helps me to get ready for a big talk, especially if it's about grand things like how I'm going to get executed…" He hesitated. "Eh, not precisely that, but you understand what I am saying, surely."

Fandral sniffed derisively, reaching to his waist for a waterskin he'd tied to his belt. "Here, you can have a sip of my water."

" _Water_?" Volstagg sputtered, outraged. "What dolt would waste a perfectly good water skin by filling it with water?" He raised his own, which smelled rather sweet even from a distance. "This is mead, wizard! Premium Vanaheim brew, ready for drinking! Go on! It might put some hair on your chin!"

Fandral rubbed his forehead. "Volstagg, must you always ruin our reputation?"

The portly Asgardian seemed suddenly aghast. "But it is a  _fine_ brew!"

"That's not what I meant!"

Harry rolled his eyes and begrudgingly took Volstagg's waterskin, as a little bit of liquid courage might just be what he needed. He had left firewhiskey behind in another universe, so space-alien-god mead might have to do. He knocked some of it back, letting it burn for a moment in the back of his throat. It was good -  _very_ good. Better than anything he'd had since he'd arrived. He let out a soft sound of appreciation.

"You see, you see? He likes it!" Volstagg boomed.

Harry didn't care to comment, merely enjoying the pleasant haze from the rather excellent brew. If nothing else,  _that_ part of the myths was accurate.

"We should get moving," Fandral said at last. "We have delayed for much too long."

"Agreed," Volstagg agreed, shivering. "We must not keep the King in wait…"

"I think you've got the weight covered."

" _Fandral!_ Your jokes get tiresome!"

"Perhaps you should work out more, so your stamina does not falter so easily."

"Argh!"

Harry smiled to himself, heartened a little with thoughts of Fred and George's spiritual brothers. It was good to think that even across worlds and realities, some things never changed.

He never did see the two ravens which flew over his head, silently watching.

* * *

"You shall be silent!"

Hogun winced at the rebuke, ducking his head as Sif poked him in the back with a sharp finger. He'd been trying to be stealthy - honest - but his broad frame didn't lend itself to hiding, and he was still wearing much of his armor. The Lady was entirely too high-strung, clearly, and she pushed him on relentlessly, even when he almost tripped over the cloth that had been draped over their heads - the only reason why nobody had caught them yet.

"What are we even doing here?" Hogun begged softly, inching through the antechamber that led to the Allfather's halls. Two Einherjar departed on the far side of the room, leaving a moment of respite before another few would be entering on their patrol route. "It's that Seidhr, isn't it?"

"Obviously," Sif murmured. "Who else would have such a relic as this?""

The Cloak of Invisibility, Hogun thought, was a great treasure - for a smaller person than he. The strange, shimmering cloth was barely large enough to cover one person standing up, much less two broad-built ones. Hogun idly wondered whether the Lady Sif had broken into the vaults to retrieve the wizard's belongings, but he decided not to pursue that thought.

"And why are we sneaking through our own home like thieves or spies?"

"Because spycraft is our intention," Sif answered immediately, poking him forward again towards the back of the chamber and the set of stairs that led to the high porches. "Harry is to be judged and sentenced. He came here in part through my actions, and using my weapon - but I have not been asked to attend this meeting." She poked again. "I will attend this meeting."

"Well. Breaking into a secret meeting with the Allfather," Hogun concluded. "Surely the best plan you've ever had, my dear Lady. Why am I involved?"

"The others of the Warriors Three are present. I thought you would want to be included," she murmured. "Oh, and Hogun?  _Be silent!_ We are invisible, not inaudible." She paused. "Also - be mindful of passing wind."

Hogun blanched in embarrassment. "Y-yes, my Lady."

* * *

Two jet-black ravens crossed the golden pillars of the hall, their caws sharp and shrill in the solemn silence. They descended from high above and encircled Harry once before they veered back towards their master, Odin Allfather, who stood at his gargantuan throne. It was a massive golden seat with two wide prongs fanning out to the sides, shaped like the crossguard of a mammoth sword. The very ground itself was gold inscribed with silver decorations, and the pillars gleamed with precious metals and gemstones in all directions. The rest of Asgard paled in comparison to its splendor.

"...Okay, this is getting to be a bit much," Harry said softly, and Volstagg just barely suppressed a grin. The humor fled quickly, however, as they approached the dais.

Thor awaited by his father's side, one hand on the hilt of his hammer. "Wizard," the Prince stated, his expression grim. He nodded to Volstagg and Fandral, who quickly took a step back. "I trust your stay in our cell was - satisfactory," he added dryly, but Harry refused to take that particularly juicy bait. "We would have your name."

"My  _name_?" Harry asked incredulously. "Uh… I thought Sif would have given you that. Name's Harry." He waved drolly. "Nice to meet you."

"...Harry," Thor repeated dubiously. "We had heard as much, but… it is an undignified name." He shook his head. "A Midgardian name, I assume?"

"Yes, well, because that's where I was born." The 'undignified' person bristled. "I happen to like it. It's got character, and it suits a wizard. Trust me, you don't want to hear my opinions about  _your_ weird names!"

"I would hope not!" Thor announced. "You must have realized the strangeness of your name, though, compared to those within the treatise you were given?"

Harry blinked. "You mean the books back in the cell? Yeah, I couldn't actually read those. Don't know the language, I'm afraid."

"You..." Thor frowned distractedly. "You cannot read your own tongue?"

"Uh… I can read English, if that's what you mean. And some Latin, I suppose, and a tiny bit of this and that besides. I don't know much about runes, though. Nobody uses it anymore, and there's not been many wizards around to keep me sharp, you know?" He stared at Thor's mystified gaze. "Is that… strange?"

"I should think so!" Thor exclaimed as he caressed his forehead wearily. "The last of the Seidhr, a proud and once-mighty race, is an illiterate, ignorant  _buffoon_!"

"Thor." Odin's voice was soft, almost inaudible, but the prince reared back immediately, his irritated expression making way for a flash of shame. The old king looked Harry over with a curious eye, more considering and patient than the first time. "Harry," he spoke at last, and it sounded more formal than it should have - like when Dumbledore spoke that name. "Harry of Midgard, Last of the Seidmadr."

Harry nodded. "As far as I know."

"The  _last_? Surely your family -" Fandral cut in, but he stopped when Volstagg's elbow landed squarely in his gut. "Ah… I had a point, though..."

"I'm the last. My parents are dead," Harry noted without much inflection. He didn't care to get into the metaphysics of travelling between universes - traveling between realms was complicated enough - but this was hardly a secret he cared to keep. "The truth is that I've found nothing magical on Earth in the obvious places. I seem to be  _it,_ save for some remnants locked away in dark places, hidden from sight."

"The unseen depths of the Cancerverse," Odin stated flatly. "It is a space between spaces - chaotic pits where the branches of Yggdrasil cannot reach, and even Death is powerless. None have dared to enter there in thousands of years - or so I thought." He scowled. "You entered it through a hidden door - a pathway that I could not find, and Heimdall could not see. I had thought all of the Doors of Night closed, for fear of a breach."

"I guess you'll have to look again," Harry said nervously. "Hogwarts escaped the disaster that wiped out the wizards by fleeing into this - this  _Cancerverse_ , as you put it." He considered how appropriate such a name was as he remembered the inhuman, skittering things that had attempted to enter, chaos and life in one awful form. And Peeves… twisted beyond recognition, infecting the Basilisk like a sickness. "All of the wizards were dead by the time I got there, though."

"Or as close to it as makes no difference," Thor said in a disturbed tone. "Life persists in the dark - but perhaps the soul does not."

"Let's  _hope_ not," Harry agreed with a shiver, imagining the haunted faces of the Founders, animated like fleshy puppets at the whim of a spirit of chaos.

"The Cancerverse is a terribly dangerous place," Odin observed morosely. "Few ever escape from it. There are no paths from there back to Yggdrasil. All paths lead further inwards." A ghost of a smile played across his face, then. "There are no paths out... and yet you have found one. Indeed, you stepped form that place into Asgard, the most protected of all the realms."

"It was kind of last minute," Harry admitted, and then he cringed as he remembered what he'd done to the fine china. "Blimey, you do forgive me for that, right? I didn't squash anyone with Jormy?"

"Jormy?" Thor demanded immediately.

"Uh." Harry almost took a step back from the towering figure - his great bulk reminded him, if only for a moment, of Dudley's enormous form. He would keep that to himself. "Eh… That's what Loki called it, anyway. He thought it was funny. Jormun-something," he recalled haphazardly. "I mean the big lug of a snake that I left in your dining room. The Basilisk."

"Ah." Odin's brow furrowed for a few long moments, his eye downcast. "The creature has been dealt with - it is of no consequence. I care not for your deeds among the dead, and I shall forgive your entrance into this realm, for it was done out of great need." His gaze turned fiery, then. "I  _cannot,_ however,ignore that which has befallen Loki Odinson."

"I can explain!"

"The wizard described petrification," Thor interjected swiftly, stepping closer still. "He spoke of an enchantment that could be cured only by a cursed, screaming plant - a Seidhr creation, no doubt. Mandragora he called it, but it cannot be the weed we know in the nine realms."

"Way to steal my thunder," Harry said lightly, refusing to meet Thor's eyes and admit he'd made that pun intentionally. "That was pretty much right, actually. Petrification is what happens when someone gets an indirect look at a Basilisk's lethal gaze. It doesn't wear off, I think, since there's stories of people being stuck like that for years, and even forever." He sighed, rubbing his hands together. "Trouble is that they're magical plants. Mandrakes are rare to begin with, and with magic effectively dead and buried…"

Harry stopped suddenly, glancing back to the towering form of Odin. The god who, if Sif was right, had once scoured the Earth to look for remnants of wizardry - and come up empty. A god who had been present when this universe's wizards were at their mightiest. And perhaps - one that knew what had befallen his would-be ancestors.

"What exactly happened to the wizards?" he demanded, and it came out more sharply than he intended, laced with a bitter intensity as he thought of the shambling remnants he'd faced in Hogwarts.

Thor didn't seem to understand the sudden tension, but the white-bearded ancient merely sighed, his eye fixing on something in the distance and a thousand years ago. "You ask a question that I cannot answer," the Allfather stated.

"Can't, or won't?"

Odin clasped his hand around his spear, Gungnir, and looked away. "Both. I cannot share what you wish to know. If you are to find out, it is not my responsibility to tell."

Harry sighed in defeat. "Is that a flowery way of saying 'bugger off'?"

"Indeed," Thor observed.

"Wonderful." Harry glared balefully at the two Asgardians, but he couldn't muster any real anger. He'd never expected the truth to be handed to him on a silver platter. "They were my people - or I am their legacy. Either way, I deserve to know what happened to them. And what  _will_ happen to Earth, now that Midgard's no longer devoid of wizards."

"You speak rightly," Odin agreed. "And it seems you already know about your doom. The Lady Sif must trust you well, to share such insights."

"We get along," Harry agreed. Thor snarled something uncomplimentary at that. "She's been known to get a bit too presumptive, though," Harry added lightly, considering that moment out in the desert when she'd taken it upon herself to take care of his foolish self. "She told me that I would be attracting attention to Earth, though I'm not sure I get all the details. It's been weighing on my mind a bit, obviously."

"It is of later concern," Odin said dismissively. "For the moment, we must concentrate on the problem at hand - the return of my son."

"Then we must find a wizard's Mandragora," Thor concluded strongly. "We shall scour the lands of Midgard, such that no stone will be left unturned!"

"No," Odin stated with finality. "The Doors of Night may have been hidden from my sight - but not the light of magecraft. Not the works of the Seidhr. The Ban still exists, for the moment - no wizardry remains on Midgard." He met Harry's eyes for a moment. "It is not there that Loki shall find salvation."

"Then where? Jötunheim? Svartalfheim?" Thor wondered.

"The cold and the dark would not allow verdant life - even if the Seidhr were present to maintain it. Our ancient allies had their own realms, their own secret places. If any of those survive, they are beyond our reach." He dipped his head. "I fear there is but one place where Earth-magic has persisted. Attenuated, perhaps, or mutated - but alive."

Harry felt a chill ran down his back. He could connect these dots. "That's  _not_ a good idea."

"No - it is not," Odin agreed immediately. "The Cancerverse is a rotting, despicable place. If one stays there too long, or partakes of its doubtful bounty, one shan't leave again. Caught in life like a fly in amber, the slow degradation of flesh is inevitable. None should dare to set foot in such an unholy place."

"But you want me to go back there anyway," Harry observed. "Swell."

"I remember your people´s ways, Harry of the Seidhr. Two debts you owe me," Odin stated. "The first debt is for the fate of my son, which would not have occurred without your action. The second debt is for your continued safety within Asgard's mighty walls." He raised one finger. "The first debt you may resolve by retrieving the cure for my son's malady." He raised the next. "The second debt you can fulfill by risking your life in that pursuit."

"You don't have to hold any life-debts over me. I'm not a coward." Harry bristled at Thor's dubious expression. "I will figure out how to fix this mess - I always do."

"You and your silly wooden stick?" Thor asked doubtfully. "You are defenseless as a newborn Bilgesnipe without your precious tool." He reached for his hammer, twirling it around his hand effortlessly. "I could squash you where you stand!"

Odin's hand shot out to stop his son while Harry once more he kept himself steady, refusing to stand back from the belligerent deity's wrath. His hand brushed across something familiar at his waist, and with a swift movement he grasped what he already knew would be there, and a thrill of recognition shot through him as he raised his arm.

Gryffindor's gleaming silver sword had appeared inside his hand, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs. It sang through the air as it met mighty Mjolnir, and it was as if movement itself had suddenly ceased to exist. Thor stared in disbelief. Harry's expression was barely less surprised, as he had certainly not entered the room with a weapon in hand.

An echo of pain shot through his arm, a memory. The sword had come to him, just as it had so long ago in the Chamber of Secrets.

"So it  _is_ the stuff of legends!" Volstagg exclaimed in awe as the name of Gryffindor gleamed on the charmed blade, its edge sparking against the solid metal of Thor's hammer. Neither budged an inch. Finally, amazingly, it was Thor who took a step back, lowering Mjolnir. His eyes were no longer filled with contempt, but instead a wary intrigue. Respect, perhaps.

"I am never unarmed," Harry stated, working with what he'd been granted. "The Sword of Gryffindor was made a thousand years ago by goblins, the magical world's most skilled metalworkers. It is enchanted, and serves only those whom it considers worthy." He raised an eyebrow. "Care to try your luck?"

Thor briefly glanced down at his hammer, then put it back on his belt, seeming rather contrite. "I apologize for my actions," he said begrudgingly. Judging by Fandral's wide eyes, that was stupendously rare. "I spoke too rashly."

"Wish that you would realize more often," Odin observed. "Still, armed with legends or not, I shall not allow you to enter the dark alone, Harry of Midgard." He leaned on his staff, as if to remind Harry that it, too, was legendary. "Do not consider this charity, for part of the reason is that I cannot trust you to return here. You have a means of travelling between Asgard and the Cancerverse. You will take my son, so that he may prove your worth - and his own."

Thor faltered, astonished. "Father!?"

"Thor," Odin returned solemnly, his eye full with an emotion that Harry couldn't quite pin down, but he recalled that same expression on Professor Dumbledore's face when he sat in an ethereal trainstation on the edge of forever. "Remember that you, too, are armed with a weapon of legend," the father of the god said. "You wish to save your brother, and that should set your heart aflame with courage. This challenge, more than any other, will show me if you are ready." He nodded confidently. "When you return - we shall discuss what road lies ahead."

"You mean the coronation."

Odin pursed his lips. "Perhaps."

Thor wilted at his father's tone, steadying himself for a moment. "...Very well. I will do this."

"Very well. You shall have all the assistance you require - and doubtlessly desire," Odin said, and he looked over Harry's shoulder. "Will you rise up to meet this challenge as well, brothers of the sword? You, the mighty Warriors Three?"

"Um," Volstagg said carefully. "Actually, I think you'll find there's only two of us here…"

"I can understand why you would count Volstagg as two," Fandral helpfully added. "And obviously we would hardly pass up the opportunity to get some exercise."

"I said the Warriors  _Three_ ," Odin proclaimed, his gaze lingering towards the far end of the room. Harry pondered that for a moment, his hand tightening around his sword's hilt. "This journey will be dangerous. Perhaps fatal. It will take you to the wildlands of legend - to see things which are beyond my sight, now, so close to the Odinsleep."

"Father?" Thor asked softly, and Harry saw the worry flash in his eyes.

"I will persist." The old god waved off his son irritably. "Your destination is a place I witnessed when you and your brother were still young and mirthful. It lies beyond Yggdrasil, as a mote of order in a sea of roiling chaos." He hummed thoughtfully. "It was green beyond measure, as a garden that stretched out above and below with boundless life - and magic. Earth magic. I have always thought that out there, hidden, the Seidhr might have left one of their precious artifacts."

Harry considered the cube that Loki had coveted. "It's like Hogwarts, then? A bit of the magical world that's survived all this time?"

Odin inclined his head. "It seems likely. Heimdall has searched for that place as well, but found nothing. Still, I know that it exists, somewhere in the deep. If my knowledge of Seidhr magic does not fail me, a wizard should not need more than a sharp image to reach that place. A memory."

"That's true," Harry agreed. "I did reach  _this_ place without ever having been here, although I had to use an anchor to do so. I'll have to remember to grab a new one for the trip back." He wondered what would happen if he messed up the Portkey  _into_ the Cancerverse - he end up in the middle of the monsters? The very thought made his skin crawl, but he forced himself to ignore that possibility. "I could probably get there," he said at last.

"Ah, such certainty fills me with great confidence!" Volstagg commented dryly. "When will we leave?"

"Immediately," Odin said imperiously. "The breach into Asgard remains an open passage to the plains of chaos. When it closes, it is doubtful that even the Seidhr can break back through without great rituals of ancient magic."

"And I don't care to try my luck with Hogwarts  _again_ ," Harry admitted with a shiver. He lowered his head at last. "Alright. We will go."

"And we will as well!" a new voice called into the pensive silence. Harry turned in astonishment at the familiar cadence. Behind him stood Sif, flanked by a tall Asgardian. She had her head held high, though her body was still half-covered by Harry's own invisibility cloak. "By your leave," she added with a wicked smile.

"Lady Sif," Odin declared, utterly unsurprised. "How unexpected."

She rolled her eyes, smiling at Harry for a moment. "You know I will join this cause, All-Father. I will not be dissuaded. It should be no surprise to you."

Odin sighed, rubbing his forehead. "True. It is hardly possible to separate you from the wizard, it seems. So be it."

"Father! You can't just -" Thor started, relenting as he noticed Sif's glowering expression. "Lady Sif… You must understand that this is a task of great danger -"

"Oh, do be silent,  _Prince_ ," Sif said with a dangerously soft voice. "Or do you imagine me a wallflower? A wilting weakling?"

Thor winced visibly, and Harry shared a pitying glance with Volstagg.

Hogun raised a hand. "So… I hate to bust in, but where  _exactly_ are we going?"

* * *

"You ought to know these things," Sif said with a tinge of annoyance as she looked over Hogun's equipment with an experienced eye. "We don't have a clue if there will be fresh water - you can't just rely on Volstagg to carry the essentials for you. Even if he has a broad back."

"But Volstagg always brings the water!" Hogun protested.

Harry snorted, thinking of the waterskin he'd sipped from. "Volstagg really should be the one to bring the refreshments, you know. I could use another pick-me-up to calm my nerves."

"A pick-me-up?" Sif asked, and she scowled. "...Are you intoxicated?"

"Nah. Just in dire need of good tea, I'm sure," Harry responded lightly, glancing over to Fandral, who was shining his shoes. "Do you have tea in Asgard, perhaps? Maybe something that is not entirely unlike tea? Not any of that American sweet tea, either!"

Fandral shrugged. "Does it have alcohol? If not - then the answer is a definite no."

Sif rolled her eyes. "Do you have everything?" she wondered. "All your wondrous artifacts have been returned to you?"

"Yes, it seems I've got everything," Harry agreed. Most of his stuff has still been packed into his mokeskin pouch, and he felt much better with his wands back on his person, even if Gryffindor's sword had helped out in a pinch. They were neatly packed in between his towels and a few of Tony's suggestive magazines. With the invisibility cloak slung over his back, once more closed with the clasp that held the Resurrection Stone, he felt about twice the wizard, and perhaps half a Dumbledore.

"You're fully prepared, then?" Sif wondered. "Did you remember to bring your pocket handkerchief, perchance?"

"My -" Harry halted mid-sentence, staring in disbelief at Sif. "Did you just -"

"I borrowed Anthony's copy, of course."

"You're a thief!" Harry said. "A scoundrel!"

Sif snorted. "Burglar, I should think."

Thor cleared his throat, then, as he stopped besides them clad in full armour, his hammer already held tightly in his fist. "Are you two quite done nattering at each other? The breach is closing fast, so we cannot afford any more delay."

"Tell that to Volstagg - he's still busy braiding his beard," Fandral complained. "And where is Loki, anyway?"

Thor raised an eyebrow. "Loki has been turned to stone, Fandral," he stated flatly. "Do keep up."

"That's not what I meant!"

"The Prince is over there." Sif gestured over to the far side of the dinner chamber, where a Basilisk had been before - save for a good deal of ruined tiles and a long stain from saliva or poison, there wasn't much evidence it was ever there. "We've been using him as a coatrack."

"You have done  _what_?" Thor exclaimed, aghast.

"Don't worry, we propped him up against a wall, he's not going to fall. Besides, I think he looks quite fetching with four hats!" Hogun announced, and Thor seemed like he would burst at any moment. "We're not sure who will be carrying him around, but I'm sure we can strap him onto something."

"Volstagg will do it," Harry stated matter-of-factly. "He has the broadest back, you know. Unless you want to carry him around, Prince Thor? I can make him lighter, if you like." Harry wiggled his hands. "Maybe I should make him float? We could tie a string to his ankle so we don't lose him. Although he might get slightly fishy if I try to fiddle with the spells too much. I've gotten into a habit, lately."

"Imbeciles!" Thor declared, before he turned to help his petrified brother.

"Well, don't mind if I keep the fish to myself!" Harry yelled.

The cheer was muted somewhat after Volstagg arrived. He barely even blinked when Loki was strapped to his back alongside a good amount of supplies - he was clearly used to doing the heavy lifting. Harry had stocked up his pouch as well, but the Asgardians had quite vehemently disagreed when he'd offered to just keep everything on his person. Or when he's suggested shrinking things. Or really when he suggested anything at all.

"You should have this back," Sif announced as she stopped besides him. "It was returned to me - but I don't think it belongs with me any longer." It was Sif's knife - somewhat deformed from its encounter with a Basilisk, but still functional. "It has chosen a wielder, clearly."

"You're sure?" Harry wondered.

"I have more." Sif smiled. "It saved you once already, didn't it?"

Harry nodded, slipping the blade into his pocket. "Hope I won't need it."

"There's always a fool's hope, I suppose."

Volstagg grumbled something intelligible, then spoke up. "This is far too dull to be a proper hero's departure, I say! I feel there should be a song," he said. "A song of the Warriors Three, the Mighty Thor and the wizard from Earth who -" Sif glared daggers at him. "Ahem - and the glorious Lady Sif, of course - Anyway, it should be about glory, and striking spears, and swinging hammers!" He raised a fist. "A song of monsters slain, and spears shattered, and castles laid to waste! Of weapons of legend who destroy eternal unlife!"

"And good tea," Harry added with finality. "No sense in stretching this out. Time to go! Grab onto your neighbor, and try not to puke!" It would be fun to be the one not falling over from a Portkey for once - hopefully.

He glanced over to the door where he had first seen Odin arrive. He stood there again, and inclined his head when their eyes met. He leaned on his spear with one hand, and two black ravens cawed from his shoulders, as if saying farewell. The old King seemed both more and less regal than he had before, though Harry couldn't pin down why.

"Puking? Who do you take us for?" Thor declared. "We are not some weak-stomached -"

" _Portus."_

The world broke open, chaos streamed in, and a rainbow of colors took them all away.


End file.
